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THE  MAN  IN  THE   CASE 


UK  WENT  AWAY  WITH   A  VISION  OK  HER   HLINDIMi   ALL  HIS 
HEART  AND  I1KAIN 


The 
MAN  IN  THE  CASE 

h 

Elizabeth  Stuart  Phelps 

Illustrated  by  Henry  J.  Peck 


BOSTON  AND  NEW  YORK. 
HOUGHTON,  MIFFLIN  AND  COMPANY 

tfiUersidc  press,  CambriDgc 
1906 


COPYRIGHT    1906   BY   ELIZABETH   STUART   PHELPS   WARD 
ALL   RIGHTS    RESERVED 

Published  September  iqob 


ILLUSTRATIONS 


A  vision  of  her  blinding  all  his  heart  and 

brain  (faSe  34)  FRONTISPIECE 

"  Ladies,"  she  said,  "  I  have  come  to  resign 

my  office  "  88 

"  She  received   us  as  if  she  had  been  the 

queen  of  Heaven,  sir"  124 

Joan  perceived  Mary  Caroline  helping  the 

furnace  man  184 

She  dexterously  bound  the  wound  196 

"  Here  's  your  mother's  veil,  Miss  Joan  "        246 


The 
MAN  IN  THE  CASE 


CHAPTER  I 


IVIN' is  like  cat's  cradle," 
said  Mary  Caroline.  "It's 
quite  interim'  long  's 
there  ain't  a  man's  hand 
a-holdin'  of  the  string." 
Miss  Dare  smiled.  She  smiled  easily 
and  charmingly  ;  most  easily  that  day, 
for  she  was  light  at  heart.  It  was  an 
October  day,  fair  of  face,  warm  of  im 
pulse,  grave  of  purpose,  like  an  experi 
enced  and  beautiful  woman,  —  a  day 
deep  to  the  soul  of  it  with  color,  and 
alive  to  the  last  nerve  of  it  with  ten 
derness.  One  might  have  said  that  it 


THE    MAN    IN    THE    CASE 

was  a  day  when  the  two  halves  of  the 
year  met  before  their  separation ;  that 
winter  clasped  summer  in  his  arms  and 
gave  her  in  one  solemn  embrace  the 
passion  of  betrothal  and  farewell. 

Miss  Dare's  living-room  was  so  far  a 
thing  from  the  accepted  suburban  "par 
lor,"  that  it  was  called  a  library,  and, 
to  an  extent,  deserved  the  name.  For  it 
was  unpretentious,  well  lighted,  and 
lined  with  books.  The  windows  of  this 
room  were  open  —  the  late  afternoon 
was  so  warm  —  and  the  floating  leaves 
from  the  maples  that  arched  the  street 
flew  in  on  the  south  wind  ;  two  or  three 
struck  Miss  Dare  on  the  forehead  and 
remained  on  her  hair  like  fragments  of 
a  shattered  crown ;  one,  a  yellow  one 
with  carmine  cheeks,  fell  to  the  bosom 
of  her  white  woolen  gown,  and  clung 
there  :  she  fastened  the  leaf  in  the  place 


THE    MAN    IN    THE    CASE 

it  had  chosen,  but  shook  the  others  off, 
laughing. 

"  Oh,    but    Mary   Caroline !    Every 

man  does  n't  snarl.   And  if  he  does  n't, 

just   think   how   splendidly  he    holds 

the    game !     His    hands    don't    shake 

-  nor    scratch  —  and    they  're    so  — 

big-- 

"  The  bigger  they  be,  the  wuss  they 
snarl,"  said  Mary  Caroline  obstinately. 
"It's  the  natur'  of  the  critter.  I  hain't 
got  no  use  for  'em,  nor  you  neither. 
Thanks  be  to  mercy  there  ain't  none 
of  'em  'round  us,  clutterin'  us  up  with 
late  dinners,  fussin'  over  ice  in  the 
grapes,  and  takin'  the  seeds  out  of  their 
oranges  same  as  they  was  babies  to 
get  stuck  in  their  throats.  They're  a 
passel  of  sp'iled  boys  -  -  men-folks  ; 
they  had  n't  orter  be  let  loose  in  the 
same  world  with  women  to  sp'ile 
3 


THE    MAN    IN    THE    CASE 

'em.  'T  ain't  fair  play,  not  to  neither 
party." 

"Mary  Caroline,"  said  Miss  Dare 
sweetly,  "  I  wonder  what  you  are  going 
to  give  me  for  supper  ? " 

Mary  Caroline  felt  that  she  and  the 
subject  were  dismissed  with  a  consider 
ation  equaled  only  by  its  diplomacy. 
Nothing  in  the  range  of  human  imagi 
nation  (so  far  as  this  mysterious  faculty 
had  been  granted  to  her) --nothing 
was  too  much  for  Mary  Caroline  to  do 
for  Joan  Dare.  The  old  servant  stooped 
heavily  and  picked  up  the  leaves  which 
were  littering  the  floor  at  Miss  Dare's 
feet. 

"There  's  a  stitch  outen  you,"  she 
said.  "  I  must  run  you  up." 

She  held  the  hem  of  the  white  gown 
a  moment,  letting  it  go  reluctantly ; 
she  seemed  to  fondle  it ;  her  plain, 
4 


THE    MAN    IN    THE    CASE 

middle-aged  face  flushed  with  the 
motion  of  stooping,  and  she  limped 
away  as  if  the  effort  of  the  action  had 
hurt  her  somewhere.  But  Mary  Caro 
line  never  "complained"  to  her  mis 
tress. 

Miss  Dare  had  started  to  close  the 
open  window,  and  to  reach  the  shade 
which  had  sprung  to  the  top  ;  thus  she 
had  one  of  the  beautiful  poses  of  the 
eternal  feminine  —  that  of  the  uplifted 
arms ;  an  attitude  significant  at  once  of 
grace  and  strength,  of  appeal  and  sup 
port. 

Joan  had  one  of  the  faces  of  which 
we  say,  "It  is  strong,"  and  afterwards, 
"  It  is  sweet."  She  had  passed  her  first 
youth,  and  reached  the  age  when 
women  can  be  most  miserable  or  most 
happy;  some  cynics  have  said,  when 
women  can  love  most.  Her  form  and 
5 


THE    MAN    IN    THE    CASE 

coloring  had  the  ripeness  and  richness 
of  her  thirty-fifth  year  ;  her  brown  eye 
was  warm,  and  her  motions  were  pliant, 
and  rather  dependent  than  assertive,  but 
her  head  was  well  poised,  and  about 
her  mouth,  despite  its  swift  smile  and 
the  charming  way  of  it,  were  the  lines 
of  emotion  outlived,  and  suffering  un- 
communicated. 

As  she  stood  in  this  position,  the  elec 
tric  car  came  crying  up  the  suburban 
street,  and  whirred  through  the  maple 
arch  that  covered  it ;  the  prosaic  out 
lines  of  the  car  were  unnaturally  pic 
turesque,  seeming  a  shallop  of  green 
upon  a  sea  of  fire. 

The  passengers  were  coming  from 
the  business  train.  Many  of  them  were 
walking,  and  one  who  at  that  moment 
passed  the  house  turned  and  looked  at 
it,  and  her.  His  feet  lagged;  he  stood 
6 


THE    MAN    IN    THE    CASE 

for  a  moment  with  raised  hat,  and  then 
came  up  the  avenue.  This  was  some 
thing  of  a  distance,  for  Miss  Dare's 
house  stood  well  back  from  the  street 
in  a  little  estate  of  several  acres,  con 
spicuous  in  the  suburb  of  Mapleleaf 
for  its  relative  size,  and  its  obstinate 
refusal  to  be  butchered  into  corner 
lots. 

Joan's  arms  dropped.  Her  visitor 
raised  his  with  the  impulse  of  a  man 
who  would  have  embraced  the  atmos 
phere  which  surrounded  her,  but  he 
recalled  himself. 

"  Are  you  coming  in  ?  "  she  asked, 
with  a  pretty,  upward  motion  of  the 
head  that  she  had  when  she  was 
happy. 

"  This  evening  -  -  yes.  That  is,  if  I 
may  ?  Would  you  like  to  have  me  ? " 

"  Try  it  and  see!  "  said  Joan. 
7 


THE    MAN    IN    THE    CASE 

Her  voice  laughed,  her  eyes  laughed, 
her  fluttering  color  laughed.  It  was 
now  full  sunset,  and  the  eye  of  the 
West,  looking  through  the  lens  of 
maple  fire,  seemed,  like  an  artist's,  to 
select  her.  She  was  embossed  upon 
light,  embodied  of  light,  she  pulsated 
light.  She  was  brilliant  and  vibrant. 
She  stood  confident,  yet  gentle,  an  ei 
dolon  of  joy  untried  but  trusted.  He 
who  had  awakened  this  exquisite  phase 
of  her  stood  with  his  head  uncovered 
before  it,  as  one  does  before  a  great  pic 
ture  or  a  statue  ;  he  reflected  in  his  own 
appearance  something  of  the  splendor 
of  hers.  She  retreated  from  him,  she 
could  not  have  told  why,  and  melted 
from  his  advancing  eyes  within  the 
room.  When  he  had  gone,  she  moved 
about  restlessly,  and  in  a  few  moments 
Mary  Caroline  heard  her  singing  in 
8 


THE    MAN    IN    THE    CASE 

the  garden  behind  the  house.  Her 
dog  was  with  her,  barking  ecstati 
cally. 

"  I'd  like  to  go  'n  set  somewheres  and 
sing  myself,"  observed  Mary  Caroline, 
as  she  cleared  the  supper  table.  "  It 's 
Friday  night.  They  say  they  do  miss 
my  alto  when  I  ain't  at  meetin'." 

"  Why,  go,  by  all  means ! "  cried 
Miss  Dare  with  cordiality  so  quick 
that  Mary  Caroline  gave  her  mistress  a 
shrewd  and  sober  glance ;  but  it  was 
not  accompanied  by  comment.  Mary 
Caroline  knew  her  limitations. 

When  Mary  Caroline  came  to  say 
that  she  was  starting  for  the  prayer- 
meeting,  Miss  Dare  was  lighting  a  little 
fire  in  the  grate.  The  dog  was  with 
her — a  very  large  collie,  old,  spoiled, 
and  a  misanthrope.  His  big  head  was 
on  her  shoulder,  and  both  his  paws  were 
9 


THE    MAN    IN    THE    CASE 

around  her  neck,  closed  there  with  an 
assurance  which,  however  regrettable, 
was  plainly  an  accepted  fact  in  the 
family  history. 

"  That  critter  don't  know  he  ain't 
a  lap-dog,"  said  Mary  Caroline  scorn 
fully.  "He  hain't  never  been  learnt 
nothin'  to  the  contrary.  Look  a'  that 
there  dress  of  yourn  !  " 

"  O  Martin  Zither  !  "  cried  Miss 
Dare.  "It's  white /" 

She  pushed  the  dog  down,  but  quite 
gently,  and  Mary  Caroline  brushed  from 
a  spotless  serge  lap  an  imaginary  print 
of  Martin  Luther's  front  paw.  As  she 
did  so,  she  asked  outright :  - 

"Warn't  that  Douglas  Ray  I  heerd 
before  supper?" 

"  Mr.  Ray  was  here,  yes,"  replied 
Miss  Dare,  in  a  tone  with  which  Mary 
Caroline  never  parleyed.  The  lady  rose 
10 


THE    MAN    IN    THE    CASE 

as  she  spoke,  and  mistress  and  maid  re 
garded  each  other.  The  eye  of  each 
was  firm,  but  significant;  that  of  the 
maid  was  the  first  to  waver.  Mary  Car 
oline  sighed. 

"  Would  you  mind  tyin'  my  veil  for 
me?"  she  asked  humbly.  "  I  can't  do 
it  in  kid  gloves,  let  alone  corsets." 

"Why,  of  course  !  "  said  Joan. 

She  arranged  the  bit  of  dotted  lace 
deftly  over  Mary  Caroline's  square  fore 
head,  high  cheek  bones,  and  hat  quite 
in  the  mode. 

"  It 's  very  becoming  to  you,"  she 
said  kindly. 

All  her  life  Joan  remembered  the 
look  of  Mary  Caroline's  face,  softened 
by  the  lace,  upturned  and  patient,  lifted 
for  that  moment  from  its  daily  descent 
into  drudgery  sublimated  by  its  worship 
of  herself. 

ii 


THE    MAN    IN    THE    CASE 

"  Go,"  she  said.  "  Have  a  good  time 
—  and  sing  alto." 

She  put  out  her  hand,  why,  she  could 
hardly  have  said ;  Mary  Caroline  laid 
hers  in  it  timidly,  and  the  two  women 
parted  for  the  evening. 

Joan  had  not  been  long  alone 
when  Martin  Luther,  vociferating  lan 
guage  which  would  not  have  been  ad 
mitted  at  the  Friday  evening  meeting, 
pushed,  limping,  to  the  front  door. 
Joan  opened  it,  with  a  pretty,  expect 
ant  color.  But  it  was  a  woman  who 
stood  in  the  vestibule  —  a  lady  —  one 
of  the  neighbors,  Miss  Dare's  oldest 
friend  in  Mapleleaf.  Joan  held  out 
both  hands: - 

"  Annie  Hammerton  !  Come  right 
in!" 

"Going    to    meeting?"    asked    the 


THE    MAN    IN    THE    CASE 

neighbor.  "  I  did  n't  know  but  you'd 
like  company.  It 's  rather  dark." 

"  You  never  forget  me.  You  always 
remember,"  said  Joan  slowly.  "  No, 
I  'm  not  going  to-night,  Annie.  Mary 
Caroline  has  gone.  Martin  Luther  and 
I  are  playing  heretic." 

She  laughed,  and  thanked  her  friend, 
and  the  two  kissed,  as  women  do,  for 
no  particular  reason,  and  Mrs.  Ham- 
merton  went  away.  Joan  watched  her 
slight  outlines  —  she  was  a  little  woman 
—  sliding  into  shadow  among  the  firs 
and  oaks  of  the  avenue. 

"Wait!  I'll  hold  a  light  for  you.  It 
looks  so  dark  out  under  those  trees. 
What  a  pretty  shade  your  fall  suit  is! 
Call  back,  and  let  me  know  when 
you  're  safely  down,  won't  you  ?  All 
right?  Good-by,  Annie,  good-by." 

Joan  had  caught  up  a  hall  candle- 
'3 


THE    MAN    IN    THE    CASE 

stick,  whose  long  white  candle  she 
lighted  with  the  quickness  character 
istic  of  all  her  motions.  She  held  it 
high  above  her  head  ;  her  white  sleeve 

fell  awav  from  her  wrist  and  forearm  ; 

j 

her  face  and  figure  were  revealed  more 
softly  than  vividly ;  she  swayed  on  the 
threshold,  standing  between  brightness 
and  blackness  ;  a  step  would  have  taken 
her  into  either.  Then  her  old  friend's 
voice  came  back,  cheerfully  :  — 

"  All  right,  Joan  !    Good-by." 

Joan  stood  smiling  and  shining. 

"  I  have  always  thought,"  said  a 
voice  from  the  dark,  quite  near  her, 
"  that  the  most  picturesque  thing  a 
woman  can  hold  is  a  candle.  No,  don't 
stir  !  Pray  stay  just  as  you  are  till  I  get 
there.  You  won't  shut  me  out,  will 
you  ? ' 

*  I  don't  know,"  said  Joan,  setting 
14 


THE    MAN    IN    THE    CASE 

the  tall  brass  candlestick  down  slowly 
upon  the  little  hall  table.  "  I  can't 
possibly  say  what  I  shall  do.  I  seldom 
can." 

"  On  the  contrary,"  replied  Douglas 
Ray,  "you  are  a  level-headed  woman. 
You  are  destitute  of  caprice.  But  it 
would  n't  matter  much.  I  should  have 
the  trouble  of  getting  in  the  window, 
that 's  all.  I  am  coming,  you  know, 
anyhow." 

He  stepped  in,  laughing,  and  shut 
the  heavy  door.  She  watched  the  back 
of  his  well-shaped  head  and  shoulders 
while  he  was  locking  the  door.  Mar 
tin  Luther  greeted  him,  but  sardonic 
ally,  and  returned  to  the  living-room, 
where  he  dozed  heavily  on  the  rug, 
occupying  the  whole  of  it,  with  the 
apparent  purpose  of  keeping  the  visitor 
away  from  the  fire. 
15 


THE    MAN    IN    THE    CASE 

It  now  occurred  to  Miss  Dare  —  she 
had  not  thought  of  it  before — that  she 
was  alone  in  the  house  with  Douglas 
Ray.  Something  in  this  simple  circum 
stance  embarrassed  her.  Was  it  the  fact 
that  he  was  locking  the  door  ?  As  if  he 
belonged  there.  Or  the  masterful  ease 
with  which  he  tossed  his  coat  and  hat 
upon  the  hall  sofa?  As  if  it  were  his 
sofa.  Or  was  it  —  what  ailed  the  man? 
He  had  loved  her  for  a  good  while ; 
she  knew  his  eyes  as  Andromeda  knew 
the  eyes  of  Perseus.  But  this  was  a  Per 
seus  repelled.  She  had  preferred  her 
dragons,  whatever  they  were,  to  his 
advancing  passion.  Only  now,  perhaps 
scarcely  for  a  month's  span,  or  a  week's, 
—  who  could  say  ?  had  she  seemed  to 
cease  to  distance  him.  The  man,  who 
had  studied  every  letter  of  her  nature 
with  the  scholarship  of  a  determined 
16 


THE    MAN    IN    THE    CASE 

and  undiverted  love,  sprang  towards  her 
now,  more  like  a  captor  than  a  rescuer. 
He  perceived  that  if  his  hour  had  not 
come,  it  never  would ;  and  that  he 
definitely  purposed  to  make  the  most 
of  it,  she  felt  with  the  poignant  emo 
tion,  half  of  pain  and  half  of  pleasure, 
with  which  a  delicate  woman  awaits 
the  expression  of  a  not  unwelcome 
love. 

As  definitely  she  had  purposed  to 
defer  the  psychological  moment ;  to 
parry  and  feint,  to  give  herself  time, 
perhaps  to  give  him  trouble ;  to  elude 
him  and  perplex  him  ;  to  see  if  she 
could  discourage  him — why,  she  knew, 
and  yet  she  did  not  know.  Experience 
and  instinct  warred  within  her.  She 
was  confused  by  a  prelude  which  did 
not  preface  the  music  of  her  feelings. 

She  began  at  once,  when  they  had 
17 


THE    MAN    IN    THE    CASE 

sat  down  before  the  fire — more  strictly 
speaking,  when  they  had  sat  down  be 
fore  Martin  Luther  -  -  to  talk  of  any 
thing,  of  everything,  and  anyhow.  She 
started  in  on  the  widest  subject  she 
could  grapple  —  afterwards  she  could 
not  have  told  what;  but  swerved  ab 
ruptly  to  the  personal  ground  upon 
which  the  wisest  of  women  are  most 
at  ease.  She  chatted  about  his  business 
affairs  comfortably,  as  if  she  understood 
them.  Ray  was  an  architect ;  he  used 
to  say  that  his  calling  was  a  cross  be 
tween  an  art  and  a  profession,  perhaps, 
rather,  an  art  and  an  industry.  He  had 
something  at  once  of  the  mechanical 
precision  and  chastened  imagination 
necessary  to  his  occupation,  and  devel 
oped  by  it.  Besides,  he  had  Scotch 
blood  in  him.  He  listened  to  Joan 
that  evening  in  dense,  almost  obstinate 
18 


THE    MAN    IN    THE    CASE 

silence.  After  a  while  she  observed  that 
she  was  doing  all  the  talking,  so  drew 
breath,  and  stopped  short. 

"Well?"  he  said  quietly.  "Why 
don't  you  go  on  ?  " 

"  But  you  are  not  saying  anything. 
You  do  not  answer  me." 

"  Because  I  did  not  come  here  to 
night  to  talk  politics,  either  national 
or  parochial,  nor  even  to  discuss  my 
own  professional  affairs,  however  im 
portant,  if  true,  they  may  be  —  no, 
nor  Browning,  nor  the  Eastern  Wars, 
nor — what  was  it?  the  attitude  of 
Boston  women  toward  Buddhism  ?  " 

"  How  would  Martin  Luther  do  ?  " 
asked  Joan  contritely. 

"  Life  is  not  long  enough  for  that 
subject." 

"  Would  Mary  Caroline  suit  you  any 
better?" 

19 


THE    MAN    IN    THE    CASE 

"At  least  she  is  straightforward  and 
sincere,"  replied  Ray,  with  the  Scotch 
look  about  his  mouth. 

"  Now  you  are  not  kind  !  Now  you 
wrong  me  !  "  cried  Joan  quivering. 

"  God  forbid  !  "  said  Douglas  Ray. 

"  I  don't  think  God  has  anything 
to  do  with  it!"  blazed  Joan.  "Things 
are  as  people  are.  Life  is  what  we  make 
life.  It 's  not  fair  play  to  go  packing 
everything  off  on  God  —  the  foolish 
things  we  do,  and  the  wrong  ones  — 
especially  the  wrong  ones,  the  deeds 
that  have  to  have  consequences  —  the 
moral  hooks  that  draw  other  people 
down.  If  a  man  forges  a  check,  one 
would  suppose  that  Providence  should 
be  arrested  for  it.  It  's  not  God's  affair 
how  you  treat  me,  or  I  treat  you,  or 
what  comes  of  it,  now  or — or  any 
time." 

20 


THE    MAN    IN    THE    CASE 

"Joan,"  said  the  Scotchman,  "  I  did 
not  come  for  us  to  talk  —  not  to-night 
-like  this." 

Joan  was  sitting  in  the  Morris  chair 
before  the  grate ;  the  fire  was  flutter 
ing  as  a  fire  will,  when  it  does  not 
know  whether  to  live  or  die;  what 
light  it  gave  expressed  her,  listening; 
her  position  had  a  certain  curve  like 
that  of  an  ear.  Martin  Luther  had  got 
up  laboriously,  and  put  his  head  in  the 
collie  attitude  upon  her  knee.  Her 
fingers  went  to  his  forehead  instinc 
tively,  but  her  eyes  sought  the  fire, 
which  plainly  she  did  not  see.  It  was 
impossible  for  Ray  to  interpret  her  ex 
pression  or  her  manner.  Stung  by  a 
sudden  sense  of  helplessness  before  the 
mystery  of  womanhood  which  over 
takes  every  sensitive  man  in  the  crisis 
of  pursuit,  he  said,  between  his  teeth : 

21 


THE    MAN    IN    THE    CASE 

"  Put  that  dog  out  of  the  room.  I 
came  here  to  ask  you  to  be  my  wife, 
and  I  don't  want  him  listening  !  " 

Joan  gasped.  He  thought  for  a  mo 
ment  that  he  had  said  the  fatal  thing, 
and  thrown  his  last  chance.  He  went 
whiter  than  she,  when,  suddenly,  she 
lifted  her  hands  above  her  head,  and 
so  sat  without  a  word.  It  was  a  whim 
sical  gesture  as  if  she  surrendered,  for 
her  life,  to  one  who  threatened  it.  He 
took  two  steps  towards  her. 

"  Go,  Martin  Luther,"  said  Joan, 
gently.  "  Go  away,  dear.  Mr.  Ray 
does  n't  want  you." 

"  I  want  you  !  "  cried  the  lover, 
"you — you!  Nothing  else,  Joan, 
in  all  the  world.  You  Ve  had  your 
hour,  my  dear.  Now  mine  has  come." 

Martin  Luther,  with  hanging  head 
and  tail  dejected,  had  lumbered  obedi- 
22 


THE    MAN    IN    THE    CASE 

ently  (for  he  was  a  dog)  out  of  the 
room  and  into  the  hall.  Beyond  the 
threshold,  being  a  dog,  he  turned  and 
looked.  And  when  he  saw,  Martin 
Luther  sighed. 

Joan  did  not  remember  Martin  Lu 
ther.  She  had  forgotten  the  world  and 
all  that  was  therein.  She  had  neither 
memory  nor  forecast.  Nothing  ap 
proached  her  consciousness  except  the 
rapture  of  soul  and  sense  into  whose 
prison  she  had  been  captured.  It  seemed 
to  her  like  a  cell  in  which  she  and 
Douglas  had  been  barred.  Walls  and 
bolts  of  space  and  feeling  isolated  them 
from  the  Universe,  and  locked  them  to 
each  other. 

She  had  not  thought  it  would  be  like 
this  —  she  had  not  indeed  meant  it  to 
be  like  this.  Was  it  then  of  no  con 
sequence  what  a  woman  meant?  or 
23 


THE    MAN    IN    THE    CASE 

whether  she  meant  anything  at  all  ? 
She  had  dreamed  of  a  gradual  surren 
der,  a  slow  and  sure  delight,  delicate 
concessions  and  explanations,  subtle 
advances  and  retreats,  perhaps  of  con 
fidences,  for  which  he  had  given  her  no 
opportunity  ;  she  had  expected  emo 
tion  and  experience,  for  which  he  had 
allowed  her  no  time.  In  point  of  fact, 
the  man  had  simply  taken  her  two 
hands  and  put  them  around  his  neck. 

The  first  thing  that  he  kissed  was 
the  leaf  upon  her  bosom --the  gold- 
colored  one  with  the  carmine  cheeks. 
But  when  hefound  her  lips,  he  thought: 
"  I  have  got  me  a  woman  from  the 
Lord."  And  he  could  have  knelt  be 
fore  her  white  feet.  But  she  withheld 
him,  and  she  came  to  him  like  any 
simple,  impulsive  woman  who  had  not 
24 


THE    MAN    IN    THE    CASE 

been  difficult  to  win.  So  then  he  was 
astonished  that  he  had  been  distanced 
by  her  so  long,  or  that  he  had  been 
afraid  to  woo  her.  Yet  never  had  he 
feared  her  as  he  did  at  that  moment, 
but  it  was  the  holy  fear  that  a  man  has 
of  the  love  of  a  good  woman  when 
first  he  perceives  how  great  a  thing 
it  is. 

"  How  long  have  you  cared  —  like 
this?"  he  demanded.  But  she  shook 
her  head. 

"  If  you  had  lifted  a  lash,  I  would 
have  followed  your  least  whim,  —  yes, 
to  the  ends  of  the  earth.  I  would  have 
sheltered  you  from  everything  —  every 
care — the  hurts  of  living.  Oh,  we  have 
lost  all  this  time  !  Why  did  you"  — 

But  she  pleaded  with  him  again  : 
"  Do  not  ask  me  !  I  do  not  know  how 
to  explain  it  to  you  —  the  way  I  felt. 
25 


THE    MAN    IN    THE    CASE 

I  can  only  tell  you  —  won't  that   do? 
-  the  way  I  feel." 

"We  are  in  heaven,"  said  the  Scotch 
man.  "  You  shall  exercise  its  rights. 
And  so,  Joan,  so  shall  I." 

He  took  her  to  his  heart  as  if  she 
had  been  a  nestling  girl,  and  lifted  her 
to  the  tall  chair  where  they  sat  clasped, 
but  reverent,  before  the  fading  fire. 
At  first  they  were  mute  with  their  hap 
piness,  using  only  its  sign  language. 
But  presently  they  began  to  grope  for 
each  other  with  blind  speech  —  broken 
phrases,  isolated  words,  apostrophes  of 
endearment ;  and  so,  slowly  they  found 
their  way  back  to  the  human  vocabu 
lary  which  forms  outside  of  ecstasy, 
and  relates  the  pitiable  remainder  of  the 
world  where  sweet  and  terrible  new 
love  is  not,  or  has  forgotten  that  it  ever 
was,  to  the  remote  construction  of  life. 
26 


THE    MAN    IN    THE    CASE 

They  spoke  of  all  the  pent-up  things 
that  they  had  never  had  the  right 
to  speak  of  before  —  how  much  they 
cared,  and  how  long  they  had  felt  thus, 
or  so,  why  they  had  done  or  had  omitted 
to  do  this  or  that,  why  he  had  been 
stern  on  such  a  day,  or  she  had  been 
cold  upon  such  another.  They  spoke 
of  their  ties  and  conditions  which  were 
outside  the  fact  of  loving  each  other, 
and  yet  so  mysteriously  and  sacredly 
related  to  it ;  they  spoke  of  their  fami 
lies  and  friendships  and  circumstances. 
Of  hers,  in  fact,  he  had  much  to  learn, 
for  he  had  been  a  silent,  incurious  sub 
urban,  having  more  the  habits  of  the 
town  than  of  the  country  ;  with  what 
was  called  the  society  of  Mapleleaf,  he 
had  troubled  himself  as  little  as  possi 
ble,  and  in  its  neighborhood  chat  he 
was  untaught.  In  truth,  they  were  two 
27 


THE    MAN    IN    THE    CASE 

rather  lonely  people,  and  had  swung 
towards  each  other  as  if  they  had  been 
the  only  stars  in  their  firmament.  He 
told  of  his  parents  who  were  living,  and 
she  of  hers,  who  were  dead,  and  he  told 
her  eagerly  and  boyishly  how  his  would 
take  the  place  of  hers,  and  be  to  her, 
for  the  love  they  would  have  of  her, 
the  renewal  of  what  she  had  lost. 

"  My  mother  will  come  from  Glas 
gow  to  see  you,"  he  said.  "  She  has 
always  wanted  a  daughter.  She  never 
had  one.  And  my  only  brother  died. 
It  is  almost  the  same  as  being  an  only 
child  —  like  you." 

Joan  did  not  answer,  but  clung  to 
him,  sighing,  as  if,  he  thought,  she  was 
sorry  for  his  outlived,  distant  sorrow ; 
and  it  seemed  at  that  moment  almost 
an  actual  happiness  to  him  for  the 
sweetness  of  sharing  it  with  her. 
28 


THE    MAN    IN    THE    CASE 

Then  they  spoke  of  themselves  again, 
and  of  their  love,  and  all  other  persons 
and  feelings  fled  away  from  before  them 
and  it,  as  weak  creatures  in  a  forest  flee 
before  the  trampling  of  strong  ones  in 
the  underglades.  And  so,  each  taking 
courage  from  the  other,  they  came  to 
speak  about  their  marriage,  for  sud 
denly  it  seemed  to  them  that  they  had 
lost  a  hundred  lifetimes  in  missing  each 
other  until  now,  and  that  fate  owed 
them  incredible  compensations  which 
they  must  demand  at  sight. 

Ray  was  prepared  to  beleaguer  her 
in  this  respect,  thinking  that  she  would 
distance  him  and  deny  him,  and  that 
he  must  fall  back  upon  tactics  and  a 
siege.  But  she,  who  had  evaded  him 
for  three  years,  and  held  herself  beyond 
his  power  to  gain,  gave  herself  now  so 
royally  that  he  was  half-suffocated  with 
29 


THE    MAN    IN    THE    CASE 

his  good  fortune,  as  one  is,  who,  turn 
ing  a  sudden  corner,  finds  that  a  red 
olent,  resinous,  powerful  wind  from 
the  South  is  taking  his  breath. 

"  You  are  very  woman  of  very  wo 
man  !  "  cried  the  man. 

"  When  you  wish,"  said  Joan,  "  I 
will  be  your  wife." 

The  fire  was  now  gone  to  embers  in 
the  grate,  and  Martin  Luther,  in  bit 
terness  of  soul,  was  sleeping  sonorously 
upon  the  landing  of  the  thickly-car 
peted  hall  stairs. 

The  prayer-meeting  was  over.  Mary 
Caroline,  having  sung  alto  in  all  the 
hymns,  had  come  home  in  a  state  of 
mind  and  heart  which  she  took  to  be 
one  of  a  deeply  religious  character. 
Mary  Caroline  hurried  in  to  share  the 
pleasures  of  the  evening  with  her  mis- 
30 


tress,  but,  hearing  a  ripple  of  low  voices 
succeeded  by  ominous  and  mystical  si 
lences,  Mary  Caroline  had  turned  and 
gone  gloomily  upstairs.  Who  can  say 
what  comfort  it  gave  Mary  Caroline 
under  the  anguish  of  the  moment  that 
she  should  take  the  front  stairs  ?  Per 
haps  one  must  be  accustomed  to  back 
stairs  to  understand.  At  all  events,  she 
stumbled  on  the  landing,  and  stepped 
on  Martin  Luther's  tail,  and  Martin 
Luther  remonstrated  without  reserve. 
Martin  Luther  had  a  well-cultivated 
tenor  howl,  which,  Mary  Caroline 
said,  was  a  loss  to  the  choir. 

Then  Joan,  blushing  beautifully, 
opened  the  door  that  was  ajar,  and 
called :  — 

"  Had  a  good  time,  Mary  Caro 
line?"  in  a  voice  which  was  such  a 
cataract  of  delight  that  it  scattered  and 
31 


THE    MAN    IN    THE    CASE 

spattered  joy-drops  over  poor  Mary 
Caroline  shrinking  out  of  sight  in  the 
dark  at  the  top  of  the  stairs. 

"I  hain't  ben  to  a  whist-party,"  re 
plied  Mary  Caroline  slowly.  She 
passed  on  and  up  to  bed  without  look 
ing  back,  which  delayed  her  a  pang  or 
two  of  those  that  were  in  store  for  her. 
But  Joan  could  not  think  about  Mary 
Caroline.  She  crept  back  into  her 
paradise  with  the  docility  of  one  who 
had  already  formed  the  habit  of  hap 
piness. 

Now  and  then  she  would  take  some 
of  the  little  frights  of  joy  and  retreat 
from  him  and  withhold  herself,  and 
try  to  argue  with  him  and  with  her 
self,  and  with  their  ecstasy,  but  only 
to  plunge  into  the  garden  of  it  again. 

With  her  cheek  against  his  cheek 
she  breathed :  — 


THE    MAN    IN    THE    CASE 

"Oh,  I  am  afraid  —  are  n't  you?  — 
to  be  so  happy  ?" 

But  the  lover  laughed. 

"  I  am  not  afraid  of  anything  in  the 
heavens  above,  or  earth  beneath,  or  in 
hell  that  is  under  the  earth.  Nothing 
can  happen  that  can  take  you  from  me 
now." 

They  clung  and  were  silent,  and  then 
they  talked  and  clasped,  and  while  they 
kissed  and  vowed,  they  took  no  note  of 
time,  and  the  tall  old  clock  in  the  hall 
struck  twelve  times  before  they  knew 
that  it  had  struck  at  all.  At  that  he 
left  her,  and  she  went  to  the  door  with 
him,  and  when  they  opened  it,  a  spatter 
of  rain  smote  them  in  the  face.  The 
southerly  weather  was  quite  gone;  an 
east  wind  had  brought  a  storm  upon 
its  back,  and  all  the  trees  on  the  avenue 
were  groaning  and  tossing  their  arms. 
33 


THE    MAN    IN    THE    CASE 

"  Light  the  candle,  won't  you  ? "  said 
Ray,  making  a  mock  of  the  dark.  "  I 
can't  see  a  step  before  me.  There ! 
Hold  it  higher,  please,  —  so.  Stand 
awhile,  my  beautiful.  I  wish  to  look 
at  you." 

This  she  did  with  a  pretty  obedience, 
and  he  went  away  with  that  vision  of 
her  blinding  all  his  heart  and  brain  - 
she  with  the  candle  held  high  above 
her  head,  standing  sweet  and  docile  to 
his  will,  yet  tall  as  a  queen,  with  that 
upward  motion  of  her  chin,  and  splen 
did  as  the  Angel  Joy. 

She  stood  a  little  at  one  side  of  the 
step,  and  the  candle  gave  her  a  rich 
back-ground  —  the  panels  of  the  heavy 
door,  and  the  old  brass  knocker,  and 
knob,  with  its  large  plate.  She  recalled 
to  Ray,  whose  imagination  had  the 
scriptural  tendency  of  his  nationality,  a 
34 


THE    MAN    IN    THE    CASE 

picture  he  had  seen  of  a  woman  search 
ing  for  the  piece  of  silver  that  she  had 
lost.  The  knocker  seemed  to  peer  over 
her  shoulder  at  him.  It  was  something 
of  a  curio,  the  knocker ;  much  carved, 
always  well-polished,  and  so  explicit  to 
the  eye.  It  carried  the  head  of  a  fate 
which  had  a  ring  in  its  mouth,  and 
therefore  could  not  speak.  It  was  not 
a  cheerful,  perhaps  not  wholly  a  hos 
pitable  knocker,  but  Joan  had  grown 
up  with  it,  and  did  not  mind  it.  In 
deed,  the  sober  thing  seemed  to  laugh 
behind  her  at  Ray  as  he  looked  back 
from  under  the  wet  trees ;  as  if  nothing 
could  come  near  Joan  and  not  rejoice 
for  the  delight  of  her  that  night. 

Then  she  called  down  into  the  dark, 
but  very  softly,  as  she  had  called  to  the 
woman  neighbor  :  — 
35 


THE    MAN    IN    THE    CASE 

"  All  right  ?  Good-night  -  -  good- 
by." 

And  he  called  back  — 

"  Good-night  —  good-by  —  good- 
by." 

So  she  shut  the  door  and  locked  it, 
and  came  back  and  sat  down  alone  in 
the  tall  chair.  She  could  not  go  to  sleep 
for  very  joy,  but  stayed  in  the  empty 
room,  with  Martin  Luther.  At  her 
foot  she  felt  the  crumple  of  a  leaf  which 
she  picked  up,  and  was  going  to  toss  it 
in  the  grate,  but  she  saw  that  it  was 
the  yellow  leaf  with  the  carmine 
cheeks,  that  his  lips  had  touched  upon 
her  bosom. 

"  It  holds  his  first  kiss,"  she  thought, 
"  I  shall  keep  it  —  till  I  take  his  last." 

She  crossed  the  room  to  lock  it  in  an 
old  Sheraton  desk  that  was  her  father's, 
her  shadow  following  her  across  the 
36 


THE    MAN    IN    THE    CASE 

drawn  shades,  sliding  from  window  to 
window  of  the  large  room.  When  she 
turned  to  come  back  the  knocker  on 
the  front  door  lifted  and  fell  with  a 
soft  thud.  After  a  hesitant  pause  it 
lifted  again,  then  with  definite  urgency 
rose  and  fell  once  more. 

Martin  Luther  waked,  roaring,  and 
sprang.  A  little  disturbed,  but  not  dis 
tinctly  frightened,  Joan  followed  the 
big  dog  to  the  locked  door.  It  was  now 
storming  brutally,  but,  through  the  rage 
of  wind  and  wet,  Joan  heard  —  spoken 
quite  plainly  —  her  own  name. 

"  Who  are  you  ? "  she  asked  cour 
ageously.  "  Who  is  it  speaks  to  me  ? " 

"Joan!"  entreated  the  voice  from 
without.  "  For  God's  sake  open  the 
door ! " 

Staggering  and  groping,  Joan  reached 
the  knob  of  the  door ;  it  moved  in  her 
37 


THE    MAN    IN    THE    CASE 

shaking  fingers  ;  the  bolt  slid  ;  the  key 
turned  ;  the  chain,  which  was  added  to 
the  protections  of  the  house  at  night, 
tautened  as  the  door  swung  in. 

"  Joan  ?  "  repeated  the  voice  from 
the  storm,  "  Joan  !  "  The  collie  had 
now  ceased  to  growl ;  every  hair  of  him 
was  alert,  significant,  but  not  belliger 
ent  ;  he  pushed  his  nose,  and  then  his 
paws,  through  the  space  above  the 
chain. 

With  a  grip  at  the  heart  such  as 
kills  the  weak,  and  weakens  the  strong, 
Joan  saw  that  the  dog's  tail  began 
to  swish  —  first  slowly,  then  rapidly 
against  the  wall. 


CHAPTER    II 


HEN  Mary  Caroline  came 
downstairs  next  morn 
ing  she  found  Miss  Dare 
there  before  her.  This 
was  an  extraordinary  cir 
cumstance,  for  the  maid  had  spoiled  the 
mistress,  who  breakfasted  anyhow  or 
nohow,  in  bed  or  out  of  it,  at  any  hour 
that  suited  the  lady's  fancy.  Joan,  in 
fact,  was  as  free  of  household  responsi 
bilities  as  if  she  had  been  Mary  Caro 
line's  boarder. 

"  I  have  been  trying  to  start  the 
kitchen  fire,"  explained  Miss  Dare, 
without  looking  around. 

"  The    kitchen  Jire !  '     shot    Mary 
39 


THE    MAN    IN    THE    CASE 

Caroline.  "  Whatever  in  the  name  of 
thanks  be  to  Mercy  should  you  have  to 
do  with  kitchen  fires  ?  " 

"  I  thought  1  'd  better  learn,"  re 
plied  Joan  dully. 

"  I  'd  sooner  teach  a  chipmunk,"  sug 
gested  Mary  Caroline.  "  It  would  be 
a  sight  easier." 

She  took  the  poker  hotly  from  Miss 
Dare;  who  now  raised  her  head,  shrink 
ing  slightly  as  one  does  who  meets  his 
friend  for  the  first  time  after  the  expe 
rience  of  some  disfiguring  disorder  — 
then  boldly  hurrying  on  the  dreaded 
moment,  she  turned  her  face  quickly 
and  fully  towards  her  old  servant. 

Mary  Caroline  dropped  the  poker, 
which  fell  red-hot  upon  Joan's  gray 
dress  and  bit  a  hole  in  it.  The  sickly 
smell  of  the  burnt  woolen  filled 
the  kitchen.  Neither  of  the  women 
40 


THE    MAN    IN    THE    CASE 

spoke  until  Mary  Caroline  said,  "  God 
Ay mighty  !  " 

"I  haven't  slept  very  well,"  ob 
served  Miss  Dare  slowly.  "  You  may 
bring  me  some  coffee  and  —  some 
thing.  After  breakfast  I  ' 

She  put  her  hand  to  her  head  con 
fusedly.  Ashen  and  carven,  a  blasted 
face  looked  upon  Mary  Caroline.  Joan 
stood  like  a  tree  smitten  by  lightning 
from  heaven  in  a  storm  that  had  hit 
nothing  else.  She  was  scorched  to  the 
roots  ;  every  leaf  of  her  blackened, 
each  twig  of  her  dead.  She  had  the 
aspect  of  the  primeval  things  which 
accept  their  fate  without  a  weak  and 
weakening  protest.  She  did  not  writhe. 
But  the  old  servant  who  loved  her  did. 
Mary  Caroline  uttered  herself  as  if  a 
surgeon,  without  anesthesia,  were  mov 
ing  a  saw  through  her  flesh. 
41 


THE    MAN    IN    THE    CASE 

"  Please  don't,"  protested  Joan  faintly. 
"  Don't  mind  it  so,  Mary  Caroline. 
After  breakfast  I  will — yes,  after  break 
fast  I  will  speak  with  you." 

Mary  Caroline,  who  had  the  tongue 
of  a  torrential  talker,  suddenly  dammed 
it.  Something  of  the  dumbness  of  her 
mistress  extended  itself  to  her  ;  a  little, 
too,  of  the  dignity.  She  received  Joan's 
rebuff  without  reply,  and  cooked  her 
breakfast  silently.  This  was  ordered 
upstairs,  and  Mary  Caroline  found  Miss 
Dare  fully  dressed,  lying  straight  and 
still  on  the  bed,  with  her  smooth  hair 
dark  against  the  pillow. 

"  I  will  bring  the  tray  down  myself," 
said  Miss  Dare  thoughtfully.  She  added 
a  word  or  two  about  wanting  to  rest, 
but  glanced  at  her  breakfast  with  the 
eye  of  one  who  did  not  see  it.  Mary 
Caroline  was  pathetically  pleased  to 
42 


THE    MAN    IN    THE    CASE 

find  when  the  tray  came  down  that  the 
meal  had  been  eaten  heartily  after  all. 
As  soon  as  the  dishes  were  washed,  Mary 
Caroline  put  on  a  clean  apron  and  came 
into  the  library.  It  was  still  raining,  and 
the  windows  of  the  large  room  were 
dripping  and  dreary.  A  southeast  gale 
lasts  twelve  hours,  and  this  one  lacked 
yet  several  of  its  abrupt  death.  Miss 
Dare  was  in  the  Morris  chair.  Mary 
Caroline,  without  being  invited  to  do 
so,  took  a  seat  on  the  sofa,  and  folded 
her  red  hands  upon  her  white  apron. 
She  was  the  first  to  speak. 

"  Well  ?  "  she  said.    «  Here  I  be." 
"  Mary  Caroline,"  replied  her  mis 
tress,  without  looking  at  her,  "  I  have 
something  painful  —  very  painful — to 
say  to  you." 

"Out  with  it,  then! "  said  Mary  Car 
oline,  stiffening. 

43 


THE    MAN    IN    THE    CASE 

"I  find  it --hard,"  parleyed  Joan. 

"  Has  that  feller  been  a'  hurtin'  of 
your  feelin's?"  demanded  Mary  Caro 
line,  with  ominous  calm. 

"  If  you  mean  Mr.  Ray  " 

"  Because  ef  it 's  him  —  ef  he 's  dars't 
to  -  -  hain't  thrown  you  over,  has  he? " 

A  pale  smile  answered  this  half- 
strangled  outburst. 

"  Because  ef  he  had,"  observed  Mary 
Caroline, "  I  'd  kill  him  ;  that 's  all.  I 
know  how,  too.  I 'd  slice  him  the  way 
I  do  corn-beef." 

"We  will  leave  Mr.  Ray  out  of  the 
conversation,  Mary  Caroline.  He  has 
no  connection  with  the  subject  about 
which  I  have  sent  for  you  to  talk  with 
me.  It  is  quite  another  matter  upon 
which  I  have — to  speak." 

"  I  ain't  so  sure  of  that,"  retorted 
Mary  Caroline  obstinately.  "  I  '11  bet 
44 


THE    MAN    IN    THE    CASE 

the  critter  's  to  blame  for  it  somehow. 
Men-folks  always  be  to  blame  for  the 
sorrers  of  women-folks.  It 's  the  nater 
of  'em.  But  there  !  If  you  're  sot  on 
it,  dearie,  /  won't  stand  in  the  way." 

Mary  Caroline,  overcome  with  her 
own  magnanimity,  seemed  to  break 
like  a  strong  crockery  bowl,  and  cracked 
into  shrill  crying. 

"  I  '11  make  the  best  on  't,  may  the 
Lord  have  mercy  on  his  sinful  soul ! 
Have  the  feller  hold  the  cat's-cradle  ef 
you  find  it  more  interim'  than  you 
do  livin'  alone  along  of  me.  Don't 
you  bother  your  poor  head,  Miss  Joan. 
I  '11  put  up  with  the  critter  someways 
or  nuther.  Seein'  you  ask  it  of  me,  I 
swear  I  will !  "  — 

"But,"  interrupted  Miss  Dare  feebly, 
"  I  am  not  asking  anything  of  the  kind 
of  you.  I  am  asking  something  a  great 
45 


THE    MAN    IN    THE    CASE 

deal  harder  than  that."  Joan  paused 
and  panted. 

"  I  am  asking  you,  Mary  Caroline,  to 
leave  my  service." 

Mary  Caroline  clapped  her  hand  to 
her  ear ;  like  one  dashed  deaf  by  the 
detonation  of  a  cannon. 

"Marm?" 

"Alas  —  yes.  Dear  Mary  Caroline! 
Yes." 

"Me?" 

Joan  nodded  silently. 

"  Me  leave  you  ?  Us  that  has  been 
together  --  through  everything  -  -  for 
eighteen  year  " 

Miss  Dare  leaned  her  head  back 
upon  the  Morris  chair.  She  made  no 
reply,  and  her  silence  affected  Mary 
Caroline  more  powerfully  than  any 
speech  or  language  within  the  etymo 
logy  of  the  situation  could  have  done. 
46 


THE    MAN    IN    THE    CASE 

She  wrung  her  gnarled  hands  and 
thrust  them  out  before  her,  as  if  they 
had  been  facts. 

"  Look  !  "  she  said.  "  How  long 
they  've  done  for  you ! " 

Then  the  old  servant  sank  upon  her 
knees,  and  uttered  these  pathetic 
words :  — 

"  I  will  put  ice  in  his  grape-fruit !  I 
won't  never  say  a  word  about  them  late 
dinners.  I  '11  take  the  seeds  outen  his 
oranges ;  I  '11  do  up  his  outin'  shirts— 
his  bosom,  if  you  say  so,  an'  never 
chirp." 

But  Joan  sat  perfectly  still.  Mary 
Caroline  rose  from  her  knees  labori 
ously.  Her  cheeks  and  lips  were  now 
as  blanched  as  Miss  Dare's  own. 

"Mean  this,  do  you  ?" 

Joan  looked  up  stolidly  ;  scarcely  a 
pulse  of  expression  throbbed  across  her 
47 


THE    MAN    IN    THE    CASE 

face.  Mary  Caroline  began  to  untie 
her  apron  and  to  roll  down  her  sleeves. 
She  started  for  the  door.  Joan  moved 
her  dry  lips. 

"  Where  are  you  going  ? ' 

"  I  'm  goin'  for  one  o'  them  nervous 
doctors.  You  've  gone  stark,  starin' 
crazy.  Some  on  'em  had  orter  see  to 
you  right  away." 

Joan  smiled  —  she  could  not  help  it, 
even  then,  and  even  there  —  but  it 
would  have  been  easier  to  see  her  weep. 

"Mary  Caroline,"  she  said  distinctly, 
"  if  you  bring  any  one  to  the  house 
you  will  arouse  my  deep  displeasure. 
Otherwise  we  shall  part  the  friends  - 
the  dear  friends  —  that  we  have  been 
so  long.  I  am  quite  myself,  and  I 
understand  perfectly  what  I  am  do- 
ing." 

Now   Mary  Caroline   received    the 
48 


THE    MAN    IN    THE    CASE 

arrow  full  in  the  throat.  It  was  as  if  she 
made  one  fierce  effort  to  pull  it  out. 

"I  won't  go!"  she  said,  standing 
still  in  the  middle  of  the  room. 

"  Not  if  I  ask  you  to,  Mary  Caro 
line?" 

"  God  A'mighty  !  "  repeated  Mary 
Caroline.  She  turned  her  head,  and 
locked  her  hands  upon  her  neck ;  as  if 
she  were  wounded  in  the  jugular. 

"Who  's  a  comin'  in  my  place?" 

"No  one  —  nobody  —  no  person." 

"  He  ain't  turnin'  me  out  for  no 
darky  butler  ?  Nor  no  heathen  Chinees? 
Maybe  he  fancies  them  Amenyuns 
goin'  to  evenin'  schools  four  miles  off 
an'  can't  understand  no  more  English 
than  a  woodchuck  atop  of  Greenland's 
Icy  Mountains.  You  can  tell  him  he 's 
welcome  to  'em." 

"  I  can  only  repeat,"  returned  Miss 
49 


THE    MAN    IN    THE    CASE 

Dare  faintly,  "  that  Mr.  Ray  has  no 
thing  whatever  to  do  with  the  matter. 
My  reasons  for  this  step  are  my  own. 
I  cannot  explain  them  to  you.  I  wish 
I  could.  I  can  only  ask  you  —  without 
any  questions  —  to  leave  my  house,  and 
me." 

"When?"     cried     Mary     Caroline 
wildly.    She  began  to  tremble. 

"To-day,"  replied  Miss  Dare. 

Mary  Caroline  tottered  to  the  door. 

"  You  can  go  to  your  sister's,  can't 
you?"  pleaded  the  mistress.  "I  shall 
continue  to  pay  your  wages.  I  shall 
pay  you  just  the  same  as  usual,  and 
your  board  for  a  year  —  two  years - 
three  —  five — until  I  ask  you  to  come 
back  to  me  :  if  I  ever  do." 

"  What  do  you  take  me  for?"  groaned 
Mary  Caroline.    "  I  'd  starve  first.    No, 
I  thank  you,  Miss  Dare  —  not  so  much 
50 


THE    MAN    IN    THE    CASE 

as  my  week's  notice.  I  '11  pack  up  and 
go  to-night.  I  '11  send  Dexter  for  my 
trunk  come  Monday.  Ken  I  stay  long 
enough  to  clean  up  my  kitchen  'n  pan 
tries  an'  do  my  Saturday's  cookin'?" 

Joan  turned  her  face  away.  It  lay 
upon  the  cushion  of  the  tall  chair  like 
a  medallion  of  mystery  carved  with  the 
chisel  of  pain.  Mary  Caroline  stood  a 
moment  looking  at  it,  and  then  she 
shut  the  door. 

The  day  passed  as  days  do  when 
there  is  death  in  the  household ;  or  part 
ings  harder  than  death.  The  two 
women  exchanged  but  few  words,  and 
those  of  a  quiet  character.  Miss  Dare 
was  acutely  restless,  and  wandered  about 
the  house  to  no  visible  end,  for  no  ob 
vious  reason.  Mary  Caroline  heard  her 
in  the  attic,  in  the  guest  rooms,  up 
stairs  and  down.  Once  she  came  upon 
51 


THE    MAN    IN    THE    CASE 

her  suddenly,  in  the  upper  hall,  stand 
ing  still  and  looking  straight  at  nothing. 

"Why  are  you  here?"  asked  Joan 
sternly,  and  poor  Mary  Caroline  shrank 
and  fled.  When  she  got  downstairs  she 
flung  on  a  shawl  to  get  out  and  find  a 
"nervous  doctor;"  but  her  purpose 
wasted  before  the  prospect  of  Miss 
Dare's  displeasure. 

"  If  she  only  had  some  folks," 
thought  Mary  Caroline.  She  enumer 
ated  Joan's  departed  relatives  with  that 
sense  of  her  own  helplessness  which 
only  an  old  servant  who  stands  in  stead 
of  family  relationships  to  a  willful  and 
worshiped  mistress  can  experience. 

"Father  'n  mother  gone  —  Harum 
dead — and  her  aunt  Mari'.  Her  uncle 
Amos  travelin'  in  some  heathen  nation. 
Nobody  left  the  name  of  her  but  them 
Californy  cousins  —  and  she  the  way 
52 


THE    MAN    IN    THE    CASE 

she  is.  It  doos  seem  as  if  this  here  was 
more  'n  one  hired  girl  had  orter 
tackle." 

"  I  've  set  three  loaves  o'  white  and 
one  o'  graham,"  said  Mary  Caroline 
at  dinner  time.  "  I've  roasted  a  couple 
of  fowls  an'  I  'm  bilin'  a  ham.  There's 
four  pies  'n  a  bowl  o'  doughnuts.  That 
had  orter  keep  ye  till  her  that  comes 
after  me  —  let  alone  it  bein'  a  him  — 
gets  round  to  knowin'  where  anything 
is." 

"  Nobody  is  coming  after  you,"  re 
plied  Miss  Dare.  "  It  won't  hurt  me 
to  do  a  little  work  myself." 

"You  pore  creeter!"  murmured 
Mary  Caroline.  "  You  pore,  disluded, 
misfortnit  creeter !  —  I'd  like  to  see  ye 
do  it,"  she  added  grimly.  "  Would  n't 
shet  the  door  in  my  face  if  I  should 
make  a  party  call  some  day,  would  ye? 
53 


THE    MAN    IN    THE    CASE 

I  '11  bring  a  card-case  and  ring  the 
front  bell." 

"  I  should  prefer  -  -  I  am  sorry  to  say 
it,  Mary  Caroline  —  that  you  did  not 
come." 

At  this  mortal  shot  Mary  Caroline 
gave  up  the  field.  Without  a  struggle 
she  surrendered  to  her  fate.  For  the 
remainder  of  the  day  she  met  it  with 
a  dignity  not  surpassed  by  that  of  her 
mistress.  She  asked  no  question,  she 
had  no  replies.  Joan  felt  that  she  was 
treated  with  the  reserved  forbearance 
and  uncandid  silence  which  one  ex 
tends  to  a  deranged  person  not  legally 
under  surveillance.  The  position  of 
the  two  towards  each  other  had  now 
begun  to  grow  so  unnatural  that  the 
pangs  of  parting  were,  somehow, 
mysteriously  eased.  For  the  rest  of 
the  time  —  it  was  now  but  a  few 
54 


THE    MAN    IN    THE    CASE 

hours  —  that  they  remained  together, 
neither  affected  the  mask  of  words; 
yet  it  seemed  to  the  maid  that  her 
mistress  nervously  watched  the  clock, 
and  wished  them  fewer.  Mary  Caro 
line  went  about  her  work  in  massive 
silence.  She  scrubbed  and  swept,  she 
baked  and  dusted,  she  washed  and 
ironed,  she  packed  and  wept.  With  the 
steel  muscle  and  the  passionate  devo 
tion  of  the  old-fashioned  servant,  she 
crushed  the  labors  of  a  week  into  the 
span  of  a  day. 

At  five  o'clock  she  came  into  the 
library  to  say  good-by. 

The  southeasterly,  having  run  its 
twelve  hours'  span  of  life,  had  gnashed 
itself  out  at  noon,  and  the  afternoon 
had  been  brilliant,  and  rather  cool. 
The  wind  had  veered  now  to  the  north, 
and  the  trees  on  the  avenue  were  bend- 
55 


THE    MAN    IN    THE    CASE 

ing  the  other  way  :  as  if  the  burdens 
on  their  shoulders  had  been  shifted. 
The  drops  still  strolled  down  the  win 
dow-panes,  one  seeking  the  other  and 
multiplying  slowly.  Miss  Dare  was 
watching  them  without  seeing  them 
when  Mary  Caroline  entered  the  room 
suddenly,  in  her  best  clothes  and  fash 
ionable  hat,  with  the  veil  of  spotted 
lace.  Her  face  was  disfigured  by  cry 
ing,  but  her  eyes  were  now  quite  dry. 
Her  high  cheek-bones  were  hectic. 

"I  've  cleaned  the  back  stairs,"  she 
began,  "  and  the  cellar  and  the  attic, 
an'  all  my  closets.  My  room  is  all 
done  up.  No  Amenyun  won't  find  a 
speck  nowhere.  I  Ve  washed  ye  an' 
ironed  ye  all  I  could  an'  I  've  swep'  up 
everywhere  only  that  sewin'  room  with 
the  extry  silver  we  keep  locked.  I 
could  n't  find  the  key.  I  've  left  a  list 
56 


THE    MAN    IN    THE    CASE 

of  the  forks  and  spoons  for  that  there 
darky  butler.  I  've  set  the  supper-table 
for  ye.  Dexter  he  '11  git  my  trunk 
come  Monday.  It 's  strapped,  an'  I 
brought  it  down  the  back  stairs —  he 's 
such  a  spindlin'  critter/' 

Mary  Caroline  paused.  Both  women 
had  become  very  pale.  Neither  seemed 
able  to  utter  the  word  for  which  both 
were  waiting. 

"  You  'n  me  've  lived  together  for 
eighteen  years,"  said  Mary  Caroline  at 
last.  "  Death  nor  trouble  hain't  parted 
us,  nor  wuss  'n  death.  Whatever 's  a 
doin'  of  it  now,  or  whysomever,  or 
whichsomever  's  in  store  for  ye  —  Miss 
Joan,  you  remember  thar  I  be." 

"  I     will     remember,"    said    Joan. 

"  Mary  Caroline  ?    If  it  should  happen 

that   I  should  be  blamed  for   parting 

with  you  or  for  anything  —  I  could  n't 

57 


THE    MAN    IN    THE    CASE 

expect  you,  I  know,  to  feel  the  same 
to  me  ?  " 

She  spoke  somewhat  piteously ;  it 
was  the  first  symptom  of  weakness  that 
had  escaped  her. 

"  Death  'n  hell  will  give  up  the 
dead  as  is  in  them,"  solemnly  answered 
Mary  Caroline,  "  before  I  give  up 
feelin'  the  way  I  've  always  felt  to 
you." 

Joan  held  out  her  shaking  hand. 
But  Mary  Caroline  did  not  take  it. 
Instead,  she  threw  her  arms  around 
Miss  Dare's  neck,  and  kissed  her,  for 
the  first  time  in  their  lives. 

"Oh,  my  dear!"  she  sobbed,  "my 
dear  !  my  dear  !  " 

When   Joan   lifted   her  face,  Mary 

Caroline  was  walking  down  the  avenue 

with  her  little  bag  in  her  hand.    She 

did  not  turn  her  head.    Martin  Luther 

58 


THE    MAN    IN    THE    CASE 

followed  her,  with  a  busy  tail  ;  he 
thought  he  was  going  to  the  post- 
office. 

But  Mary  Caroline  sent  him  back. 
He  came  dejectedly,  and  did  not  trou 
ble  himself  to  seek  his  mistress,  whom 
he  seemed  to  have  forgotten.  Joan  sat 
alone  in  the  silent  house.  She  could 
hear  her  own  heart-beats. 


CHAPTER    III 


OUGLAS  RAY  came  out 
from  his  office  a  little 
later  than  usual  that  day. 
He  did  not  get  his  Satur 
day  afternoons  "off,"  like 
the  salesmen  and  book-keepers,  his 
neighbors  in  Mapleleaf.  In  the  pro 
fessions  a  man  is  his  own  task-master, 
therefore  unindulged.  Ray  was  indus 
trious,  ambitious,  and  successful ;  hence, 
at  times,  mercilessly  overworked. 

"  When  I  see  these  fellows  parad 
ing  the  streets  for  eight  hours'  work," 
said  the  architect,  "  I  'd  like  to  tell 
them  how  many  of  us  are  lucky  to  get 
off  at  eighteen." 

60 


THE    MAN    IN    THE    CASE 

It  was  nearer  six  than  five  o'clock 
when  he  passed  Miss  Dare's  house  on 
his  way  from  the  train.  It  was  not  yet 
dark,  and  he  looked  for  some  sign  or 
trace  of  her.  He  was  disappointed  to 
find  neither.  Only  the  hall  was  lighted, 
and  the  shades  in  the  library  were 
drawn.  He  hurried  his  dinner,  and 
got  to  her  before  seven.  The  gas  in 
the  house  was  now  turned  on  as  usual. 
He  did  not  ring,  but  lifted  the  knocker 
decidedly.  The  fate  with  the  ring  in  its 
mouth  responded.  She  answered  the 
summons  herself;  the  light  was  behind 
her,  and  her  face  presented  itself  to  him 
only  in  its  values,  like  those  of  a  dark 
ened  statue.  She  still  wore  the  gray 
dress  that  she  had  put  on  that  morn 
ing,  but  at  first  he  did  not  notice  the 
lack  of  splendor  in  whose  enhance 
ment  he  had  seen  her  last,  nor  perceive 
61 


THE    MAN    IN    THE    CASE 

that,  whereas  he  had  parted  from  a 
glorified  being,  the  allegory  of  joy,  the 
poem  of  hope,  he  was  received  by  a 
dulled  and  patient  woman.  It  was 
enough  for  him  at  first  to  touch  her 

—  living,    loving,    warm,    and    pliant 

—  his.    She  lay  in  his  arms  with  a  cer 
tain  desperate  helplessness  not  charac 
teristic   of  Joan.    Had    love   wrought 
upon  her  already  one  of  the  swift  and 
mysterious    miracles  which    it   is  said 
sometimes  to  work  upon    the   natures 
of  the  strongest,  who  are  the  tender- 
est  of  women  ?    She  sank  against  him 
like  any  little  feminine  creature,  as  if 
she  had  within  her  no  more  any  power 
to  exist  outside  of  himself;   as  if  she 
found  herself  deprived  of  thought  and 
action,  or  the  capability  for  either;   as 
if  she  put  him  forever  between  herself 
and  the  stress  of  life  — yielding  its  elec- 

62 


THE    MAN    IN    THE    CASE 

tions  and  its  struggles  to  him,  for  very 
love. 

He  drew  her  into  the  large,  empty 
room.  The  fire  was  not  lighted  in  the 
grate,  and  a  sort  of  cheerlessness  which 
he  could  not  define  struck  his  sensibil 
ities  coldly.  He  turned  to  the  tall 
chair  in  which  they  had  sat,  rapturous, 
last  night.  Suddenly  it  seemed  to  him 
a  long  time  ago,  and  he  wished,  he 
could  not  have  told  why,  that  he  had 
not  suffered  so  great  a  space  between 
the  first  and  the  next  draughts  of  joy, 
whose  brimming  goblet  was  at  his  lips. 

"  People  call  twenty-four  hours  a 
day!'  he  began.  "Four  and  twenty 
centuries  have  gone  into  this  one.  I 
wanted  to  come  in  this  morning.  I  tried 
to  run  out  at  luncheon.  I  tried  to  — 

"Love!     Lift    your    face.     No?  — 
Then  I  shall  do  it  for  you,  Joan." 
63 


THE    MAN    IN    THE    CASE 

He  turned  it  gently  upon  his  arm 
where  she  had  hidden  it,  and  so  brought 
it  forcibly  to  the  solitary  gaslight  burn 
ing  above  his  head.  Then  the  same 
solemn  word  that  had  expressed  the 
horror  of  the  old  servant  leaped  to 
the  lips  of  the  lover. 

"God!"  he  said,  "my  God!" 

Joan  had  released  herself  from  his 
arms,  and  stood  stolidly.  Up  to  this 
moment  she  had  not  spoken.  The  fig 
ure  by  which  we  have  tried  to  indicate 
the  impression  of  her  appearance  forced 
itself  upon  Ray's  mind  like  something 
inevitable,  the  only  human  phrase  for 
the  occasion. 

"  You  have  been  blasted  !  "  he  cried. 
"What  is  it  ?  What  can  ail  you  ?  Joan  r 
Joan?" 

"  Have  you  written  to  your  mother  ?" 
she  began,  in  a  lifeless  voice. 
64 


THE    MAN    IN    THE    CASE 

"No." 

"  I  am  glad  of  that.  Don't  do  it  — 
just  yet." 

"  I  cabled  her  this  morning." 

"  Oh  ! — I  am  sorry." 

*'  I  suppose  I  might  have  waited  — 
a  little,  but  I  could  n't ;  I  was  too 
happy.  I  did  n't  think  you'd  mind  it, 
dear.  Do  you  —  so  much?" 

"  I  am  sorry,"  repeated  Joan.  "  I 
wish  you  had  not  done  it." 

The  lover's  ardent  face  sank. 

"  I  did  not  mean  to  hurry  you  — 
to  trouble  you  in  any  way.  A  man 
is  not  the  same.  I  have  to  learn  what 
a  woman  is.  Forgive  me,  Joan." 

"Oh!"  said  Joan,  "it  is  you  who 
must  forgive  me." 

"  You  <•  I  would  forgive  you  anything 
you  ever  did  —  or  ever  can." 

Joan  stood  averted  ;  she  stirred 
65 


THE    MAN    IN    THE    CASE 

slightly  at  these  words ;  she  seemed  to 
drink  them. 

"  I  shall  remember  that,"  she 
breathed.  "  I  thank  you  for  saying 
that." 

She  tottered  for  a  moment,  like  a 
soldier  who  has  been  hit,  but  rides  on ; 
men  have  found  such  stiff  and  dead 
upon  their  horses.  Then  quietly  and 
dully,  without  a  particle  of  drama,  she 
spoke  these  words  :  - 

"  Douglas,  I  cannot  marry  you.  I 
cannot  be  your  wife." 

Ray  had  extended  his  arms,  but  they 
dropped.  He  regarded  her  with  the 
still  confident,  but  slightly  puzzled  ex 
pression  of  a  man  whose  attitude  of 
mind  does  not  shift  easily ;  his  had  the 
leisurely  movement  of  his  nationality, 
and  lumbered  at  that  moment. 

"  I  suppose,"  he  said  coldly,  "  this 
66 


THE    MAN    IN    THE    CASE 

is  one  of  the  caprices  of  the  feminine 
nature  ?  I  lack  a  liberal  education  in  it. 
I  do  not  know  how  to  deal  with  it. 
Can't  we  omit  these  —  superfluities 
from  our  relations,  Joan?'3 

"You  told  me  last  night  that  I 
am  incapable  of  caprice,"  slowly  re 
plied  Joan.  "  And  I  am  not  descend 
ing  to  a  superfluity.  If  I  were,  your 
lightest  wish  would  wrench  me  out 
of  it." 

At  this  the  slight  frost  he  had  melted 
in  his  warm,  wet  eyes. 

"  I  might  have  known  you  did  not 
mean  it ;  I  should  have  known.  For 
give  me,  lassie !  " 

"But  I  did  mean  it,"  said  Joan 
deliberately.  "  I  do  mean  it.  Most 
unhappily,  I  must  mean  it.  I  cannot 
marry  you.  I  cannot  be  your  wife. 
Yes,  I  know  I  said  I  would  last  night. 
67 


THE    MAN    IN    THE    CASE 

To-night  I  must  unsay  it  —  all.  I  must 
recant  our  happiness." 

"  You  cannot  recant  our  love  !  " 

"  I  cannot  recall  my  own  .  .  .  for 
you.  I  wish  I  could." 

"  Nor  mine  for  you,  by  Heaven  !  " 
cried  the  Scotchman.  "  It  is  a  fact.  I 
told  you  how  it  is.  It  is  fixed.  You 
cannot  interfere  with  it.  I  swear  a 
woman  shall  not  meddle  with  a  man 
—  like  that.  You  cannot  defy  the  laws 
of  nature.  They  are  stronger  than  you. 
And  so  am  I.  And  so  is  the  love  I 
gave  you.  Do  you  suppose  it  is  a  dead 
leaf  that  you  should  toss  it  away  ?  " 

"I  wish  I  could,"  repeated  Joan, 
sighing.  "  For  your  sake  and  for 
mine." 

"  Its  roots  have  gone  down  —  like  a 
mountain's,"  said  Ray  sternly.  "  Are 
you  going  to  peck  at  it  with  a  lady's 
68 


THE    MAN    IN    THE    CASE 

fan  ?  I  have  heard  that  women  do  such 
things,  sometimes.  You  can  make  me 
.  .  .  most  miserable,  Joan,  if  you 
choose  to  ...  play  with  me  !  " 

"  I  do  not  play  with  you  !  "  cried 
Joan  in  a  voice  of  unbearable  anguish. 
It  was  the  first  sign  of  suffering  that 
she  had  permitted  herself,  and  across 
the  countenance  of  her  lover  passed 
the  first  serious,  or  at  least  the  first 
evident  apprehension  that  she  was  in 
mortal  earnest.  He  put  out  both  hands 
as  if  he  groped  for  his  words  :  — 

"  We  are  man  and  woman  —  you 
my  woman,  I  your  man.  You  gave  me 
your  word.  I  hold  you  to  it." 

"  I  ask  you  to  free  me  from  it." 

"Why?" 

"  I  cannot  tell  you  why." 

"  I  thought  she  loved  me,"  muttered 
Ray  ;  he  looked  at  her,  but  it  was  as 
69 


THE    MAN    IN    THE    CASE 

if  he  did  not  see  her  ;  he  seemed  to 
be  speaking  to  something  that  stood 
beyond  her  ;  invisible,  yet  immovable 
like  the  shape  of  fate.  Joan  did  not 
answer.  Her  silence  began  to  hammer 
into  the  man's  brain  like  the  nail  that 
was  driven  into  the  brain  of  Sisera. 

"  I  tell  you  I  can't  unlove.  I  'm  not 
that  kind  of  man.  It  makes  no  differ 
ence  what  you  do,  how  you  feel.  No 
thing  can  stop  my  loving  you." 

"  Not  even  my  .  .  .  caprice  ?  Not 
even  my  cruelty  ?  "  she  quivered. 

"  Not  even  your  cruelty ! "  thundered 
Ray.  "Not  anything  you  can  inflict 
on  me  —  not  any  wrong  you  can  do 
me,  or  do  yourself.  No !  As  God 
hears  me  —  No  !  " 

Joan  was  visibly  agitated  by  this 
protestation.  She  had  gone  over  to 
the  fireless  grate,  and  was  now  stand- 
70 


THE    MAN    IN    THE    CASE 

ing  in  her  long  gray  dress,  with  her 
hands  upon  the  mantel,  and  her  face 
upon  her  hands. 

Douglas  Ray,  as  he  said,  was  not 
past  master  in  the  education  which 
comprehends,  and  hence  may  conquer, 
Woman. 

Viewed  in  the  large,  spelled  with  a 
capital,  the  topic  confused  him.  He 
could  think  of  nothing  better  to  do  at 
that  moment  than  to  argue  with  Joan. 

"  Last  night  —  do  you  remember  ?  " 

"  Oh,  I  remember  it  all  —  every 
thing  !  " 

"What  you  said?" 

"  All  I  said." 

"What  you  did?" 

"  Everything  I  did.  I  would  kiss 
you  as  many  times  more.  I  am  not 
sorry  .  .  .  for  that.  Did  you  think  I 
was  ashamed  ?" 

71 


THE    MAN    IN    THE    CASE 

Joan  lifted  her  head  nobly. 

"But  to-night — just  now  —  when 
I  came  in  "  — 

"Yes,  to-night,  when  you  came  in. 
I  let  you — I  could  not  help  ...  so 
much.  I  love  you,  Douglas.  Do  you 
think  I  ought  to  be  ashamed?  I  had 
not  thought  —  of  that.  I  was  .  .  , 
pretty  tired.  I  was  .  .  .  glad  to  see 
you;  but  it  must  not  happen  any 
more.  No  —  no.  You  must  not  .  .  . 
after  this." 

She  put  out  one  trembling  hand. 
He,  who  had  stepped  toward  her,  re 
treated  before  this  white  barrier  as  if  it 
had  been  a  wall  of  crystal ;  it  was  as 
transparent,  but  as  hard  to  pass. 

"  Mother  used  to  teach  me,"  pleaded 

Joan,  in  a  broken,  girlish  voice,  "  that 

I  must  not  let  a  man   .   .   .   touch  me 

.  .  .  unless  .   .   .  And  I  cannot  be  your 

72 


THE    MAN    IN    THE    CASE 

wife.  I  have  thought  a  great  deal  about 
my  mother,  since  ...  I  used  to  try  to 
please  her,  even  when  I  was  a  grown 
up  girl.  When  I  made  her  little  prom 
ises,  I  always  kept  them." 

She  murmured  on,  to  Ray  it  seemed 
incoherently.  He  stood  staring.  The 
only  explanation  of  Joan's  condition 
which  now  presented  itself  to  him  was 
the  same  which  had  occurred  to  the 
old  family  servant.  Had  Joan  Dare  lost 
her  reason  ?  That  firm,  wholesome 
reason  which  so  happily  distinguished 
her?  Why,  she  was  saner  than  any 
woman  he  knew  ! 

"Where  is  Mary  Caroline?"  he 
asked  abruptly.  "  I  want  to  see  her  a 
minute." 

He  started  to  the  door.  But  Joan 
had  stepped  between  him  and  it. 

"  Mary  Caroline  is  not  in,"  she  said, 
73 


THE    MAN    IN    THE    CASE 

with  an  escaping  eye.  "  She  has  gone 
out." 

"  Then  I  will  wait  till  she  comes 
back." 

"  It  may  be  quite  late,"  argued  Joan 
-"too  late.  I  don't  think  you  had 
better,  — not  to-night." 

Ray  turned,  with  his  obstinate 
Scotch  expression,  wheeled  suddenly, 
took  Joan  in  his  arms,  and  carried 
her  to  the  tall  chair  where  they  had 
sat  last  evening.  There,  despite  her 
self,  he  held  her,  and  then  he  began  to 
talk. 

He  perceived,  now,  that  it  was  no 
skirmish  in  which  he  was  engaged, 
and  he  laid  siege  with  the  solidity 
of  a  determined  nature.  He  began  by 
reviewing  the  situation  calmly ;  he 
deferred  to  her  reason,  to  her  pride, 
to  her  conscience  :  then  to  her  ideas  of 
74 


THE    MAN    IN    THE    CASE 

justice,  to  her  sense  of  honor,  to  all  the 
strongest  faculties  and  qualities  that  she 
possessed.  From  this  ground  he  retreated 
subtly,  and  deliberately  attacked  her 
weakness.  He  challenged  her  love,  he 
doubted  her  loyalty,  he  played  upon 
her  tenderness.  He  smote  her  quick 
ening  sensibilities  as  if  she  had  been  a 
breaking  harp.  Joan  clenched  her 
hands  and  locked  her  lips. 

Beyond  an  invisible  line,  which  she 
had  drawn  for  herself,  she  would  not 
go.  It  was  as  fatal  and  as  formidable 
as  a  magic  circle.  All  the  resources  of 
the  man  failed  to  cross  it.  When  he 
found  that  this  was  so  he  began  to  re 
proach  her. 

"  I  had  the  right  to  demand  your 
reasons.  You  have  given  me  none." 

"  Alas,  I  have  none  to  give  you." 

"  What  do  you  expect  a  man  to  be- 
75 


THE    MAN    IN    THE    CASE 

lieve  under  circumstances   like  these  ? 
What  shall  I  think?" 

"  Believe  what  you  must.  Think 
what  you  will.  I  have  no  reason  to 
offer  you." 

"  I  have  the  right  to  demand  it,"  he 
repeated. 

"  You  had  the  right.  You  have  it 
no  longer.  I  have  taken  it  from  you. 
I  have  nothing  more  to  say.  I  " 

Suddenly  but  solemnly  Ray  closed 
her  lips  with  his. 

"  Have  you  nothing  to  say  to  me 
now?" 

"  Nothing  -  -  more." 

"  Nor  now  ? " 

"Oh,  no  —  oh,  no." 

"Nor  yet?" 

Then  for  the  first  time  that  evening 
two  strong,  stinging  tears  slid  down 
Joan's  cheeks. 

76 


THE    MAN    IN    THE    CASE 

"  You  make  it  so  hard  !  You  make 
it  so  hard  !  ' 

This  was  more  than  the  lover  could 
bear,  and  he  spared  her  immediately. 

"  Child,"  he  said,  with  the  forbear 
ance  and  gentleness  of  tone  with  which 
one  addresses  the  sick  or  the  helpless, 
"  you  are  overwrought,  to-night.  I 
will  not  trouble  you  any  longer.  We 
will  talk  another  time." 

Joan  had  released  herself  from  him 
and  stood  in  the  sombre  light,  swaying 
as  if  she  were  trying  to  find  her  footing. 
There  was  that  in  her  eyes  which  would 
have  touched  a  savage.  Before  it,  the 
compassionate,  finely-fibred  man  who 
loved  her  broke  and  yielded  altogether. 

When  she  said,  "We  must  not  talk 
again.    I  should  rather  you  would  not 
-come" — he   turned   and   left   the 
room  without  a  word. 
77 


THE    MAN    IN    THE    CASE 

She  heard  him  put  on  his  coat.  She 
saw  him  take  up  his  hat  and  lay  his 
shaking  hand  upon  the  bolted  door. 

When  he  had  opened  it,  he  looked 
back.  She  was  standing  where  he  had 
left  her,  alone  in  the  middle  of  the 
large,  dim  room,  in  her  gray  dress, 
with  her  blighted  face.  She  seemed  to 
hold  out  her  hands  to  him  ;  then  they 
fell,  and  hung  down  straight  at  her 
sides. 

As  Ray  went  out  of  the  front  door 
Martin  Luther  came  in.  The  collie, 
who  had,  either  purposely  or  accident 
ally,  been  left  out  some  time,  entered 
with  an  injured  air,  but,  diverted  by 
one  of  the  responsibilities  which  dogs 
take  so  seriously,  began  to  scent  the 
passing  of  the  Scotchman's  feet,  or 
some  other  canine  hallucination  which 
disturbed  him.  This  he  was  tracing 
78 


THE    MAN    IN    THE    CASE 

towards  the  foot  of  the  stairs  when 
Joan  called  him  back. 

"  Martin  Luther,"  she  said  pathetic 
ally,  "  are  n't  you  going  to  stay  by  me  ? 
There  is  n't  anybody  else." 

She  put  her  arms  about  the  dog's 
neck,  and  hid  her  face  upon  his  ruff. 


CHAPTER   IV 


HE  suburb  of  Maple- 
leaf  has  the  rural  traits 
which  its  pretty  name 
suggests,  together  with 
the  urban  temperament 
which  made  it  natural  that  such  a  name 
should  be  attached  to  it.  Some  one  of 
the  salesmen,  book-keepers,  or  small 
merchants  who  selected  and  settled  the 
spot  had  possessed  a  certain  imagi 
nation. 

Escaping  the  city  in  the  fall  of  the 
leaf,  he  had  tramped  joyfully  through 
drifts  of  driving  oak  and  maple,  elm 
and  ash  and  chestnut,  which  filled  the 
roads  of  a  village  then  almost  as  naive 
80 


THE    MAN    IN    THE    CASE 

as  if  it  had  been  curled  at  the  feet  of 
Monadnock.  These  streets  he  had  in 
due  season  marked  with  an  arcade  of 
little  maples,  that  in  the  days  of  which 
we  speak  had  become  an  arch  of  car 
mine,  gold,  and  glory. 

The  maple,  although  it  has  orange 
moods,  is  known  in  New  England  as 
the  tree  that  is  red  three  times  a  year : 
at  the  blossom,  at  the  seed,  and  at  the 
dying.  In  May,  the  children  climb  to 
tear  the  crimson  feathers  from  the 
lower  branches  ;  in  October  they  wade 
knee-deep  through  the  flood  of  color 
which  flows  from  sidewalk  to  sidewalk, 
crackling  deliciously  beneath  the  feet. 

Mapleleaf  is  eight  miles  out  from 
the  city  which  is  said  to  have,  with 
the  possible  exception  of  Canton  and 
Liverpool,  the  most  beautiful  suburbs 
in  the  world. 

81 


THE    MAN    IN    THE    CASE 

Of  these  some  are  more  fashionable, 
but  none  more  persuasive  than  the  lit 
tle  community  of  which  we  write.  It 
might  best  be  described  in  the  South 
ern  word  "  homey."  It  unites  the  in 
dependence  of  the  town  to  the  good- 
fellowship  of  the  country.  It  is  at 
once  initiated  and  provincial.  It  wears 
the  latest  mode,  and  follows  the  newest 
fads.  It  hears  the  popular  lecturer,  the 
great  singer,  and  the  reigning  play.  It 
has  its  fifty  trains  a  day  (both  ways) 
and  the  fifteen-minute  trolley  sched 
ule.  It  has  its  kindergarten  and  its 
High  School,  its  Ladies'  Wednesday 
Club,  its  caterer,  its  bank,  its  telephone 
exchange,  its  hospital.  In  short,  Maple- 
leaf  is  equipped,  if  not  elite. 

In  this  attractive  little  town  the 
family  of  Joan  Dare  were  conspicuous 
and  influential.  It  was,  in  fact,  Josiah 
82 


THE    MAN    IN    THE    CASE 

Dare,  her  father,  —  a  respected  book 
seller  of  the  city, — who  had  planted 
the  maple  arches  and  developed  the 
suburban  imagination.  This  is  not  so 
common  that  it  did  not  make  its  mark. 
He  was  the  first  deacon  of  the  church, 
the  first  president  of  the  bank.  The 
trolley,  the  telephone,  the  public  li 
brary,  the  drinking-fountain,  the  Citi 
zens'  Improvement  Association  owed 
their  comfortable  existence  to  his  en 
ergy  and  ingenuity.  The  lesser  suburb 
is  even  more  a  one-man  community 
than  the  country  village,  and  in  Maple- 
leaf  Josiah  Dare  was  the  man. 

His  daughter  had  that  quiet  social 
ease  and  unquestioning  assurance  of 
position  which  belong  to  the  "  first 
lady  "  of  a  small  but  not  a  rural  neigh 
borhood.  The  family  had  known  their 
share  of  troubles,  like  other  people. 
83 


THE    MAN    IN    THE    CASE 

Perhaps  (like  other  people)  they  may 
sometimes  have  thought  it  a  heavy 
share.  But  the  sorrows  of  her  first 
youth  were  well  behind  Joan,  and  when 
she  took  the  unread  book  of  happiness 
in  her  hands,  turned  the  first  page  and 
tossed  it  away,  she  had  the  equipment 
for  joy  which  only  pain  can  give.  Her 
Sunday  visits  to  the  elaborate  suburban 
cemetery  where  her  parents  lay  had 
long  since  ceased  to  give  her  acute 
grief.  Her  free  and  solitary  life  with 
her  old  servant  had  begun  to  assume 
a  shade  of  monotony.  Sometimes  she 
caught  herself  saying  :  - 

"  This  is  a  doll's  house  after  all. 
What  would  a  real  home  be?" 

She  was  ready  for  love ;  she  was  ripe 
for  happiness.  Without  a  moment's 
hesitation  she  had  dashed  both  down. 

Only  second  in  importance  to  the 
84 


THE    MAN    IN    THE    CASE 

church,  and  secretly  believing  itself  to 
be  of  more  than  the  bank,  the  library, 
or  the  Improvement  Association,  the 
Ladies'  Wednesday  Club  of  Mapleleaf 
was,  and  is,  a  power  not  to  be  derided 
or  ignored.  To-day,  in  fact,  the  Ladies' 
Wednesday  Club  of  this  agreeable  sub 
urb  represents  the  great  Affiliation  of 
the  nation,  forty  thousand  women 
strong  in  the  state  alone.  At  the  time 
of  which  we  write,  the  Wednesday 
Club  was  relatively  a  primitive  but  still 
a  powerful  body  ;  a  significant  substi 
tute  for  the  sewing-circle  of  the  rural 
districts  and  of  an  elder  day.  Of  this 
organization,  Joan  had  long  been  the 
president,  and  her  recent  absence  from 
its  sessions  had  not  passed  without  re 
mark. 

One  Wednesday  afternoon  some  five 
or  six  weeks  after  the  opening  date  of 
85 


THE    MAN    IN    THE    CASE 

our  story,  the  delinquent  officer  unex 
pectedly  presented  herself  to  the  hostess 
of  the  day's  occasion,  who  was,  in  fact, 
the  wife  of  the  minister.  Joan  was 
greeted  in  a  pointedly  Christian  man 
ner,  and  with  a  warmth  so  effusive  that 
it  gave  the  impression  of  misplaced 
italics. 

The  parsonage  was  full,  and  a  trem 
bling  lady  in  a  cobalt  silk  dress  (this 
was  before  the  day  of  white  silk  shirt 
waists)  was  quavering  forth  her  views 
on  the  Italian  Renaissance.  These,  at 
the  appearance  of  Miss  Dare,  came  to 
an  abrupt  and  embarrassing  stop. 

As  Joan  entered  the  bright,  crowded 
rooms,  they  seemed  to  roll  and  divide 
before  her  as  the  Red  Sea  divided  be 
fore  the  Israelites.  Waves  of  guarded 
faces  rippled  around  her.  Whispers  like 
the  trickle  of  waters  hushed  at  her  ap- 
86 


THE    MAN    IN    THE    CASE 

proach ;  Joan  was  conscious,  in  fact, 
that  every  eye  was  upon  her,  and  that 
half  the  lips  in  the  room  were  busy 
with  her  name.  She  perceived  that  she 
was  at  the  mercy  of  one  of  the  cruelest 
of  human  forces  -  -  the  power  of  the 
feminine  tongue. 

Whatever  her  purpose  in  coming  to 
the  Club  at  all  had  been,  Joan  seemed 
abruptly  to  change  it.  The  color  did  not 
rise  upon  her  pale  face,  but  her  eyes  har 
dened.  The  presiding  officer  of  the  day 
made  way  for  her,  but  Joan  by  a  ges 
ture  declined.  She  stood  for  a  moment 
with  her  firm  hand  upon  the  table, 
closed  and  strong,  as  if  it  had  been  a 
gavel  with  which  she  commanded  at 
tention  :  this,  her  manner  and  attitude 
enforced  peremptorily. 

"  Ladies,"  she  said,  speaking  quite 
distinctly  and  with  great  composure, 
87 


THE    MAN    IN    THE    CASE 

"  I  have  come  to  resign  my  office  as  the 
president  of  this  organization.  I  am 
sorry  to  do  so.  I  have  not  now  the 
leisure  necessary  to  fill  the  position  with 
which  you  have  so  long  honored  me. 
I  thank  you  for  that  honor,  and  for 
your  kindness  and  your  confidence." 

Her  voice  faltered  a  little  upon  that 
last  word,  but  she  added  no  other  to  it. 
She  looked  for  a  moment  upon  the 
faces  of  her  old  neighbors  and  friends ; 
her  expression  was  inscrutable;  itseemed 
to  remove  her  from  them  even  before 
she  turned  and  left  them  with  a  proud 
and  quiet  step. 

As  she  passed  through  the  hall,  the 
door  of  the  study  opened,  and  the  min 
ister,  wearing  that  resigned  and  hope 
less,  but  still  slightly  injured  expression 
with  which  a  man  receives  the  pre 
sence  of  a  Woman's  Club  in  his  own 
88 


THE    MAN    IN    THE    CASE 

house,  came  out  and  spoke  to  her.  He 
was  an  elderly  man  and  had  known 
Joan  since  she  was  a  little  girl. 

"My  dear,"  he  said,  "what  does 
this  mean  ? " 

"  It  means  that  I  am  very  busy," 
said  Joan  slowly.  "  I  cannot  listen  to 
papers  on  the  Italian  Renaissance  this 
winter." 

Her  eye  answered  the  challenge  of 
his,  defiantly. 

"I  am  coming  to  see  you,"  said  the 
minister,  with  his  hand  upon  the  door, 
which  he  opened  for  her  with  a  defer 
ent  courtesy. 

"  Thank  you,  Mr.  Cotton,"  said  Joan 
coldly,  "  but  it 's  hardly  worth  while. 
If  I  should  need  you  I  would  send." 

"  Do   you   think    I    shall   wait   for 
that  ? "  demanded  the  clergyman. 
Rebuffed  but  resolute,  he  stood  watch- 
89 


THE    MAN    IN    THE    CASE 

ing  her  as  she  went  down  the  concrete 
walk  of  his  hundred-foot  lot  and  rap 
idly  disappeared  at  the  corner  of  the 
street.  She  did  not  look  back. 

Had  she  done  so,  she  might  not  have 
been  taken  off  her  guard,  when  short, 
nervous,  feminine  steps  hurried  up  and 
overtook  her. 

She  gave  one  little  warm  outcry,  such 
as  that  with  which  women  greet  each 
other  when  they  meet  affectionately. 

"  Annie  !  you  !  I  have  not  seen  you 
—  it  seems  a  great  while." 

Mrs.  Hammerton,  panting  and 
flushed,  tried  to  fall  into  step,  but  the 
short  span  of  her  little  feet  found  it  as 
hard  to  keep  pace  with  her  friend  as 
if  Miss  Dare  had  been  a  man. 

"  I  have  called  two  or  three  times. 
Nobody  answered  the  bell,"  she  com 
plained. 

90 


"  I  must  have  been  out,"  said  Joan 
calmly. 

"  Mary  Caroline  has  left  you?" 
"  Mary  Caroline  has  left  me." 
"And  you  are  living  there  alone?" 
"Why,  no!  I  have  Martin  Luther." 
The  neighbors  walked  on  together 
for  a  few    moments  in    uncomfortable 
silence.   It  was  a  November  day,  bitter 
to  its  heart's  core.    The  maples  were 
stripped  and  shivering,  and  dead  leaves 
crackled  on  the  concrete  at  the  feet  of 
the  two  women.  Annie  Hammerton,  in 
her  new  fall  suit,  looked  a   little  crea 
ture,  too  small  to  grapple  with  a  great 
subject.    Joan  glanced  down  upon  her 
with  a  certain  compassion. 

"Well?"  she  said,  "what  is  it,  An 
nie?" 

"  I  do  not  know  how,"  stammered 
Annie.   "  I  left  the  Club  on  purpose  — 
91 


THE    MAN    IN    THE    CASE 

I  hurried  after  you  —  I  thought  I  might 
not  have  a  better  chance — I  felt  that 
somebody  ought  to  speak  to  you." 

"What  about?"  asked  Joan,  in  a 
matter-of-fact  tone. 

"That  is  just  it,"  pleaded  Mrs. 
Hammerton.  "  I  am  ashamed  to  tell 
you  what  it  is  about." 

"Then  why  do  you?"  asked  Joan 
quietly. 

"  Because  somebody  must,"  cried 
Annie.  She  put  her  hand  upon  the  arm 
of  her  taller  friend,  and  clung  to  her  as 
she  uttered  these  trembling  words. 

"  Joan,  somebody  has  got  to  tell 
you.  There  are  stories  —  dreadful 
things" 

"Yes?" 

"About  you  —  about  you  !" 

"Yes,"  replied  Joan. 

"Oh,  you  have  heard  them,  then?" 
92 


THE    MAN    IN    THE    CASE 

Annie's  voice  relaxed  into  a  tone  of 
melting  relief. 

"  No,"  replied  Joan,  "  I  have  heard 
nothing.  You  are  the  first  person  who 
has  spoken  to  me  like  this.  I  think," 
she  added,  after  a  surcharged  moment 
in  which  each  studiously  avoided  look 
ing  at  the  other,  "that  it  would  be 
better  if  you  were  the  last." 

Mrs.  Hammerton's  hand  fell  slowly 
from  the  arm  of  her  friend. 

"  You  are  not  a  married  woman," 
she  said,  not  without  dignity,  "and  I 
am.  I  think  I  ought  to  tell  you.  I 
think  I  ought  to  warn  you.  Such  talk 
—  such  things  need  some  attention.  A 
woman  cannot  trample  them  under  foot. 
She  can't  go  right  on  as  if  nothing  were 
being  said.  You  ought  to  trust  some 
body —  to  confide  in  somebody.  You 
owe  your  friends  some  explanation." 
93 


THE    MAN    IN    THE    CASE 

"Of  what?"  asked  Joan,  in  a  sting 
ing  tone. 

Mrs.  Hammerton  made  no  reply. 

They  had  now  reached  Miss  Dare's 
avenue,  and  her  old  neighbor  followed 
her  automatically  up  to  the  steps.  There 
Joan  paused  and  turned  a  glittering 
smile. 

"Won't  you  come  in?"  she  asked 
politely. 

But  Annie  Hammerton  began  to  sob. 

"Not  now  —  I  can't  do  it !  I  will 
try  again — some  other  time." 

She  turned,  and  ran  down  the  ave 
nue,  hurrying  for  the  green  car  which 
cried  up  the  street  as  Joan  put  her  key 
into  her  solitary  door. 

Within   the   hall   neither  voice  nor 

footfall  greeted  her.     If  the  house  had 

been  occupied  by  the  dead — and  who 

could  say  that  it  was  not?- -it  could 

94 


THE    MAN    IN    THE    CASE 

not  have  been  stiller.  Martin  Luther 
was  out ;  affairs  of  his  own,  whether 
political  or  predatory,  detained  him  - 
as  they  often  did.  Collies  are  born  rov 
ers,  and  Martin  Luther  had  the  habits  of 
his  race.  Joan  found  him  an  uncertain 
housemate,  and  missed  the  society  of 
Mary  Caroline,  who  did  not  forage  for 
chickens,  or  hunt  foxes,  still  to  be  found 
in  the  thick  woods  which  rose  like 
ramparts  around  Mapleleaf. 

Miss  Dare  tossed  off  her  long  coat 
and  hat  and,  with  a  sigh,  went  out  into 
the  kitchen,  there  to  be  met  by  the  too 
candid  signs  of  her  laborious  and  as  yet 
not  successful  efforts  to  compass  the 
domestic  arts  of  which  Mary  Caroline 
was  past  mistress.  But,  at  a  glance, 
Joan's  arrested  feet  stopped  short. 

The  pathetic  evidences  of  disorder 
and   inexperience  which  she  had  left 
95 


THE    MAN    IN    THE    CASE 

behind  her  when  she  hurried  to  the 
Wednesday  Club  had  mysteriously  van 
ished.  The  last  pan  was  scoured  ;  the 
last  towel  was  washed  and  neatly  hung 
to  dry  ;  a  spotless  floor  and  a  shining 
stove  received  her.  From  the  oven 
came  the  strong,  warm  scent  of  baking 
biscuit.  A  vigorous  soup  was  boiling  in 
the  kettle  ;  a  pie  which  seemed  to  have 
been  hastily  made,  and  was  uncooked, 
stood  on  the  dresser.  Joan  stared  at 
the  miracle. 

After  a  few  moments  of  puzzled  re 
flection,  she  went  upstairs  to  change 
her  dress,  but  thought  better  of  it  and 
soon  came  down  and  examined  the 
kitchen  carefully.  She  tried  the  back 
door ;  it  was  locked  as  she  had  left  it, 
and  the  key,  which  she  had  removed, 
hung  by  its  leathern  tag  in  its  place  on 
a  nail  at  the  jamb  of  the  door.  She 
96 


THE    MAN    IN    THE    CASE 

tried  the  windows  —  they  were  locked  ; 
the  pantry — it  was  fast;  the  laundry 
—  it  was  bolted.  Conscious  of  a  vague 
uneasiness,  and  yet  despite  herself  aware 
of  something  like  a  sympathetic  pro 
tection,  whose  source  she  could  not 
explain,  Joan  prepared  her  supper 
thoughtfully.  Martin  Luther,  who  now 
began  to  feel  the  need  of  his,  scratched 
peremptorily  to  be  let  in.  Joan  took 
down  the  key  with  the  leathern  tag, 
let  the  dog  in,  locked  the  door,  and 
hung  the  key  again. 

It  was  perhaps  half-past  seven  that 
evening  that  the  fate  with  the  ring  in 
its  mouth  knocked  boldly  at  the  front 
door.  Joan  answered  the  summons 
promptly,  but  when  she  saw  from  whom 
it  came,  she  drew  back  a  step  or  two. 
Douglas  Ray  did  not  wait  to  be  ad- 
97 


THE    MAN    IN    THE    CASE 

mitted,  but  pushed  in  and  shut  the 
door  behind  him.  Joan  had  not  seen 
him  since  the  evening  when  they  had 
parted  at  her  behest.  He  had  written 
her  many  letters.  Some  she  had  an 
swered,  some  she  had  not.  She  had 
intimated  to  him  plainly  that  his  pre 
sence  was  undesired  by  her,  and  he 
had  taken  her  at  her  word. 

He  had  taken  her  at  her  word  —  till 
this.  But  now  he  seemed  to  elect  that 
she  should  take  him  at  his.  There  was 
that  in  his  manner  which  told  her  that 
his  errand  was  serious,  and  that  she  had 
better  not  fence  with  it  or  him. 

"  Your  house  is  cold  and  cheerless," 
he  began.  "  May  I  light  the  fire  ?" 

"Why,  certainly,"  said  Joan,  "that 
is,  if  you  are  going  to  stay  long 
enough." 

Without  waiting  for  her  permission, 
98 


THE    MAN    IN    THE    CASE 

he  had  stooped  and  struck  a  match  to 
the  cannel  in  the  grate. 

"  I  cannot  tell,"  he  answered,  with 
his  Scotch  expression,  "  how  long  I 
shall  stay.  But  long  enough,  Joan, 
to  say  that  which  has  brought  me 
here." 

The  flaring  fire  leaped  towards  him 
as  if  it  would  offer  the  welcome  that 
she  refused.  When  he  stood  aside,  the 
large,  dusk  room  seemed  to  lift  the  lids 
from  its  darkened  eyes.  The  books  in 
the  tall  cases  regarded  the  two ;  they 
gave  the  impression  of  doing  so  con 
sciously  ;  as  if,  indeed,  they  were  the 
only  intelligent  and  responsive  com 
panions  of  the  solitary  woman. 

"  Come,  now,"  said  Ray  comforta 
bly.  "Isn't  this  better?  Isn't  this 
pleasant?" 

"  It  is  pleasant,"  admitted  Joan,  in  a 
99 


THE    MAN    IN    THE    CASE 

very   low  voice,  "  I  do  not  know  that 
it  is  better." 

She  had  not  offered  him  a  chair,  nor 
made  any  movement  to  take  one  her 
self.  She  stood,  tall  and  motionless  in 
the  steel-gray  poplin  dress  that  she  had 
worn  at  the  Wednesday  Club.  It  was 
a  dull,  unyouthful  costume,  and  seemed 
to  contend  with  Joan's  natural  brilliance 
and  beauty.  These,  the  lover  perceived, 
had  suffered  a  reduction  of  tone  and 
power  since  he  had  seen  her  last.  The 
room  behind  her  was  now  fluent  with 
shadows,  as  the  house  around  her 
seemed  rilled  with  ghosts.  She  had  an 
unreal  look. 

"  I  have  come,"  said  Ray,  "  to  speak 
with  you  upon  an  important  matter  — 
you    had   better   sit   down,   Joan,"    he 
added,  as  if  he  had  been  the  master  of 
the  house  and  she  his  guest. 

IOO 


THE    MAN    IN    THE    CASE 

With  evident  reluctance  she  obeyed 
him,  and  he  seated  himself  at  a  little 
distance  from  her.  By  mutual  instinct, 
both  avoided  the  Morris  chair. 

"Now,"  asked  Joan,  "what  is  it, 
Douglas?" 

Abruptly  Douglas  plunged :  - 

"  It  is  necessary  for  some  one  to  tell 
you  that  you  have  inexplicably  become 
the  subject  of  distressing  gossip.  Its 
source  or  its  cause  I  do  not  know. 
That  it  is  destitute  of  foundation  makes 
it  the  more  monstrous.  It  is  like  a 
house  hanging  from  a  balloon  and  sway 
ing  in  the  air,"  ventured  the  architect. 
"  But  that  does  not  alter  the  case  - 
beyond  a  certain  point.  I  have  come  to 
talk  it  over  with  you." 

"I  have  nothing  to  say,"  replied 
Joan. 

"Not  even  to  me  ?" 

IOI 


THE    MAN    IN    THE    CASE 

"Not  even  to  you." 

"  Your  father  is  dead,"  urged  the 
dismissed  lover,  speaking  very  slowly 
and  with  great  distinctness.  "  Your 
brother  is  dead.  You  have  not  a  man 
relative  in  the  world  within  your  reach. 
You  are  without  a  natural  protector. 
But  you  must  be  protected,  and  I  pro 
pose  to  do  it." 

"How?"  asked  Joan,  with  a  sad 
little  smile. 

"Give  me  your  confidence,"  en 
treated  Ray,  "  and  I  will  tell  you  how." 

She  shook  her  head.  "I  have  no 
confidence  to  give  you." 

"Are  you  sure  of  that?" 

"Perfectly." 

"  I  thought  you  might  rather  -  -  I 
thought  it  would  be  less  painful  for  you 
to  hear  it  from  me.  You  must  hear  it 
from  somebody." 


102 


THE    MAN    IN    THE    CASE 

"  I  have  already  heard  it,"  admitted 
Joan,  "from  my  oldest  and  dearest 
woman  friend." 

"  What  have  you  heard  ?" 

"  That  I  am  being  talked  about. 
That  there  are  stories." 

"  Nothing  more  ? ' 

"  That  is  all.  I  thought  it  was 
enough." 

"  Has  no  one  told  you,"  demanded 
Ray  sternly,  "that  the  people  of  this 
town  suppose  you  to  be  living  here 
alone  with  a  stranger?  In  short,"  he 
added  desperately,  when  he  had  waited 
in  vain  for  Joan's  reply,  "  it  is  said  that 
there  is  a  man  in  this  house." 

These  words  came  from  Ray's  lips 
as  if  each  one  had  been  a  drawn  tooth. 
She  could  hear  him  groan.  He  had 
turned  frightfully  pale. 

"  Poor  Douglas !  "  said  Joan  gently. 
103 


THE    MAN    IN    THE    CASE 

"Of  course,"  he  began  again  with  a 
catch  in  his  breath,  "  this  is,  as  I  said, 
a  monstrous  story.  But  I  should  like 
to  be  able  to  say  something  about  it." 

"  Have  you  ever  seen  this  —  this  fab 
ulous  creature?  "asked  Joan,  with  curl 
ing  lip. 

"No!    God  forbid!    No!" 

"Has  anybody  else?" 

"  You  know,"  suggested  Douglas 
Ray,  with  a  merciful  but  pitiful  attempt 
to  be  jocular,  "  that  phrase  people  use 
in  the  country,  '  There  are  those  that '  • 
There  are  those  that  affirm  some  such 
preposterous  legend,  Joan." 

"And  you,"  demanded  Joan,  "what 
have  you  said  ?" 

"I  have  said,"  replied  Ray,  "every 
thing  that  a  man  can  say  in  behalf  of  a 
woman,  without  injuring  the  woman. 
I  have  done  everything  except  to  kick 
104 


THE    MAN    IN    THE    CASE 

the  whole  village  into  the  sewer.  But 
I  thought  I  had  —  I  think  I  have  the 
right  to  your  confidence.  I  am  here  to 
ask  for  it." 

"  I  have  none  to  give  you,"  answered 
Joan.  "  I  have  nothing  to  say.  If  my 
life  and  my  character  cannot  defend 
me  from  this  thing,  no  man  can  —  or 
shall,"  she  added  through  set  teeth. 

"  I  thought  if  you  would  take  Mary 
Caroline  back  ?"  pleaded  Ray,  "  or  send 
for  some  elderly  female  relative?  or  do 
something  to  put  a  stop  to  this  thing  ? " 

"  I  can  do  nothing,"  answered  Joan, 
"  to  put  a  stop  to  it." 

"  Not  even  offer  me  some  explana 
tion  ?  Something  I  could  say  ?  " 

"  I  have  no  explanation  to  offer  you,'* 

she  repeated  monotonously.  "Not  even 

if  you  do  not  trust  me  any  longer.    I 

cannot  help  that.    You  need  not  unless 

105 


THE    MAN    IN    THE    CASE 

you  want  to.  There  is  no  reason  why 
you  should  trust  me  unless  you  choose. 
I  have  no  claim  upon  your  confidence, 
Douglas,  except  that  you  have  known 
me  a  good  while  —  and  that  you  did 
love  me." 

Her  voice  trembled  almost  imper 
ceptibly  upon  the  last  three  words,  but 
her  eyes  were  staring  bright  and  dry. 

Then  swiftly,  with  a  heart-breaking, 
sweet  smile,  she  held  out  her  hand. 

"  Good-night,"  she  said,  "  good-by." 

"  I  will  say  good-night,"  he  an 
swered,  "  but  I  will  never  say  good- 
by." 

He  offered  her  no  caress,  but  took 
the  hand  she  lent,  and  held  it  mightily 
in  both  of  his ;  then  bowed  his  face 
upon  it  and  staggered  to  the  door. 

"  Don't  mind  it  so, Douglas, "pleaded 
Joan.  "It  cannot  —  it  cannot  be 
1 06 


THE    MAN    IN    THE    CASE 

helped !     I   am  sorry,   but   I    am   not 
ashamed." 

As  unconsciously  as  her  shadow  fol 
lowed  her,  the  woman  in  that  vital 
moment  had  followed  her  lover.  Both 
had  now  crossed  the  threshold  of  the 
library.  His  hand  was  upon  the  knob 
of  the  door,  when  the  red  hall  light 
flared  in  some  sudden  draft.  While  the 
two  stood  there  mute  and  miserable,  a 
footfall  clicked  distinctly  somewhere 
overhead. 

"There!"  cried  Ray.  "What  is 
that?" 

"  It  might  be  Martin  Luther,"  sug 
gested  Joan,  with  composure. 

But  as  she  spoke  these  words,  there 
reverberated  from  hall  to  hall  and  from 
wall  to  wall  of  the  silent  house  a 
muffled  hollow  noise.  It  was  the  sound 
of  a  man's  cough. 

107 


CHAPTER   V 


T  the  time  of  our  story 
the  church  terrestrial  in 
the  town  of  Mapleleaf 
was  like  the  church  ce 
lestial  of  religious  hope 
and  dream — it  was  one  and  indivisi 
ble.  With  a  fine  unconsciousness  of 
any  other  existing  sect  The  Denomi 
nation  represented  ecclesiastical  Chris 
tianity  to  an  incurious  acceptance.  The 
people,  untempted  by  any  other,  took 
their  inherited  polity  as  a  matter  of 
course,  and  the  Protestant  community 
referred  to  their  religious  organization 
with  the  tone,  if  not  the  accent,  of  good 
Catholics.  One  said  The  Church.  To- 
108 


THE    MAN    IN    THE    CASE 

day  there  are  five  in  Mapleleaf.  Then 
there  was  only  the  complacent,  com 
monplace  edifice  which  sat  back  in  the 
square  as  easily  as  a  commuter  in  a  car 
seat.  Had  the  building  not  been  of 
wood,  and  painted  a  chilly  brown,  it 
would  have  failed  to  meet  the  sub 
urban  architectural  ideals  at  that  day  in 
vogue. 

In  fact,  the  church  met  most  of  the 
suburban  ideals  —  these  were  not  ex 
acting  —  and  received  in  return  the 
unqualified  allegiance  of  people  who 
regarded  their  church  as  a  soul  insur 
ance  corporation,  and  their  pastor  as  a 
species  of  religious  clerk  or  agent  hired 
for  spiritual  occasions  to  make  out  the 
policies.  In  a  word,  the  little  Congre 
gational  parish  of  Mapleleaf  was  a  large 
force  -  -  the  strongest  in  the  town.  In 
it  were  vested  the  moral  and  social 
109 


THE    MAN    IN    THE    CASE 

codes.  Out  of  it  went  the  written  and 
unwritten  law.  Its  fiat  was  irretrieva 
ble.  There  was  no  appeal  from  its  ver 
dict  ;  whether  it  educated  saints  or 
cultivated  sinners,  whether  it  had  in 
spirations  or  made  mistakes,  whether 
it  represented  God's  heart  or  man's 
stupidity,  it  represented  power.  One 
might  as  well  fling  one's  self  before  the 
fender  of  the  green  car  blurring  down 
the  hill  before  one  could  read  its  num 
ber,  as  oppose  one's  self  to  the  judgment, 
the  will,  or  the  tradition  of  the  village 
church. 

Nevertheless,  and  in  spite  of  the  ab 
solute  oligarchy  which  handed  the  pas 
tor  his  salary  four  times  a  year  on 
quarter-day,  the  parish  of  Mapleleaf 
had  in  its  pulpit  a  man. 

The  Rev.  Eliakim  Cotton  was  an 
elderly  man,  as  we  have  said;  there  was 


1 10 


THE    MAN    IN    THE    CASE 

snow  on  his  hair,  there  was  fire  in  his 
eye,  there  was  sun  in  his  smile.  He 
represented  the  notable  instance  of  a 
New  England  minister  who  was  not 
afraid  of  his  people.  When  he  had  oc 
cupied  the  parsonage  with  the  hundred- 
foot  lot  and  the  concrete  walk  for  five 
years,  the  usual  movement  to  exchange 
a  pastor  whose  virtues  you  know  for 
one  whose  faults  you  do  not  know  was 
accidentally  omitted  from  the  politics 
of  the  congregation  —  who  could  say 
why  ?  -  -  and  Mr.  Cotton,  holding  over 
that  mysterious  danger  line,  had  re 
mained  where  he  was.  He  had  now 
been  the  minister  of  Mapleleaf  for 
twenty  years. 

Some  ten  months  from  the  date  of 
the  last  chapter  which  we  have  re 
corded  in  the  biography  of  Joan  Dare, 

the   Rev.  Mr.  Cotton  sat  in  his  study 
in 


THE    MAN    IN    THE    CASE 

with  iron  on  his  lips,  and  trouble  in  his 
eyes.  His  committee  sat  with  him  — 
five  in  number:  two  deacons,  the  clerk, 
the  theological  member,  and  the  rich 
member. 

The  minister  was  in  his  study  chair 
before  his  old  walnut  desk;  this  showed 
the  precision  of  a  methodical  man. 
No  letter  went  astray,  no  paper  played 
truant,  no  book  lolled  upon  that  sacred 
surface ;  the  pens  rested  in  their  rack 
with  an  air  of  infinite  leisure  ;  only  his 
blotter  showed  the  signs  of  work,  and 
that  was  black  with  it. 

The  room  was  brown  and  ascetic. 
The  ragged  carpet  was  darned,  the 
faded  furniture  was  patched,  but  the 
large  bookcases  were  full.  Above  the 
mantel  hung  an  old-fashioned  lith 
ograph  of  Cromwell  preaching  to  his 
pious  soldiers.  Behind  Mr.  Cotton's 

112 


THE    MAN    IN    THE    CASE 

chair  John  Calvin,  seeming  almost  as 
large  as  life,  and  quite  as  shocking, 
gasped  forever  upon  his  death-bed. 
One  was  therefore  surprised  that  a 
photograph  of  Da  Vinci's  Christ  was 
fastened  to  the  revolving  bookcase, 
close  within  the  minister's  reach ;  this 
occupied  such  a  position  that  his  eyes 
constantly  met  it. 

The  theological  member  (who  had 
just  been  speaking)  followed  the  min 
ister's  glance ;  but  it  was  not  apparent 
that  he  saw  the  picture.  The  rich 
member  looked  at  his  watch;  he  felt 
that  he  was  wasting  time;  there  was 
no  money  to  be  made  out  of  the  occa 
sion,  and,  it  seemed,  no  progress  either. 
The  rich  member  frowned  at  the 
dilatory  nature  of  these  ecclesiastical 
matters ;  a  man  of  affairs  would  have  ac 
quitted  or  condemned  the  accused,  and 


THE    MAN    IN    THE    CASE 

been  done  with  it,  an  hour  and  a  half 
ago.  In  point  of  fact  the  minister  and 
his  committee  had  been  in  executive 
session  behind  locked  doors  for  two 
hours,  and  had  come  to  no  agreement. 
Within  the  incumbency  of  the  present 
pastor  no  similar  case  had  come  before 
the  attention  of  the  church  of  Maple- 
leaf.  The  senior  deacon  could  not  re 
collect  that  he  had  ever  been  called 
upon  to  discipline  a  member  for  an 
important  offense. 

"She  has  been  in  regular  standing  a 
good  while,"  he  sighed.  "  If  I  am  cor 
rect,  she  made  a  profession  when  she 
was  in  early  youth.  She  still  attends 
Divine  Service  and  the  weekly  confer 
ence  of  prayer." 

"  It  is  an  extraordinary  case,"  observed 
the  junior  deacon.  "  I  never  knew  one 
like  it.  I  deeply  deplore  it,  brethren. 
114 


THE    MAN    IN    THE    CASE 

I  greatly  regret  the  necessity  of  action 
upon  it." 

"  What  would  you  do  ?  "  asked  the 
senior  deacon  uneasily. 

"That 's  it !  That 's  it !  "  cried  the 
rich  member.  "  What  will  you  do  ? 
Put  it  that  way.  Put  it  in  any  way, 
only  do  something,  gentlemen  !  Make 
a  move !  Make  any  move  and  I  '11 
second  it." 

"  I  move/'  suggested  the  theological 
member,  "  that  a  committee  of  three 
be  appointed  to  visit  the  accused,  and 
confer  with  her  as  to  the  nature  of  her 
offense." 

"Second  the  motion!  "  said  the  rich 
member,  getting  to  his  feet.  "  Why 
not  this  evening  ?  What 's  the  use  of 
wasting  time  ?  Time,  gentlemen,  is 
always  above  par." 

"  These  rumors  are  an  injury  to  the 


THE    MAN    IN    THE    CASE 

church,"  argued  the  theological  mem 
ber.  "  It  is  common  scandal.  It  is  a 
very  serious  matter." 

"  She  always  has  borne  an  unblem 
ished  reputation,"  argued  the  junior 
deacon  timidly.  His  eyes  met  those 
of  the  minister,  which  had  assumed 
a  stern  expression.  At  this  point  some 
one  proposed  that  the  pastor  should 
become  one  of  the  committee  selected 
to  confer  with  the  offending  mem 
ber. 

"  I  decline,"  said  the  Rev.  Mr.  Cot 
ton  shortly.  "  I  absolutely  decline  to 
have  anything  to  do  with  such  a  step. 
You  know  my  opinion,  gentlemen.  I 
have  expressed  it  to  you  repeatedly.  If 
you  hound  down  this  unhappy  woman 
you  will  do  it  without  my  approval  or 
my  sanction.  I  have  explained  my  po 
sition  in  this  matter  to  you  till  there 
116 


THE    MAN    IN    THE    CASE 

is  really  nothing  more  for  me  to  say 
about  it." 

"  Have  you  ever  reasoned  with  her 
yourself,  sir,"  asked  the  theological 
member,  "  as  to  the  nature  of  her 
offense  ?  " 

"  I  have  said  everything  to  her  that 
I  can  properly  say,"  replied  the  pastor 
gravely. 

"  Does  she  offer  any  explanation  or 
—  exculpation  of  her  conduct?" 

"  Neither.    None  whatever." 

"  You  defend  her  —  in  face  of  the 
facts,  do  you  ? ' 

"  I  do  not  understand  the  facts,  sir. 
Do  you?" 

"  But,"  persisted  the  theological 
member,  "  the  question  is,  do  you  de 
fend  her  conduct  ? ' 

"  Her  conduct  is  a  mystery,"  replied 

the  minister.    "  But  her  spotless  char- 
117 


THE    MAN    IN    THE    CASE 

acter  is  her  advocate.  I  will  not  arraign 
her  for  I  don't  know  what.  The  only 
Christian  course  to  pursue,  in  my  opin 
ion,  is  to  let  the  poor  girl  alone.  Time 
may  justify  her  against  these  unfortu 
nate  suspicions.  I  say  time  should  be 
given  her.  If  we  don't  trust  her,  who 
will  ?  If  we  show  her  no  mercy,  who 
should?" 

The  clerk,  a  little  silent  man  who 
had  scarcely  spoken,  now  observed 
tentatively  :  "  The  offending  member 
should  first  be  visited,  as  our  polity 
requires,  in  a  friendly  capacity  by  one 
or  two  fellow-members.  She  should 
be  approached  in  a  friendly  manner, 
before  she  is  officially  censured." 

"  This  has  already  been  done,"  said 

the  minister  sadly.    "  Some  ladies  of  the 

congregation  have  called  upon  her ;  my 

wife  was  one  of  the  number,  and  Mrs. 

118 


THE    MAN    IN    THE    CASE 

Hammerton ;  I  grant  you  that  this 
difficult  duty  has  been  performed  with 
as  much  delicacy  as  the  case  admits  of. 
Ecclesiastically  I  own  that  you  are  free 
to  act,  in  this  case,  gentlemen,  if  you 
insist  upon  it.  My  advice  is  against  it, 
that 's  all.  If  you  prefer  to  talk  it 
over,"  he  added,  "  without  me,  sup 
pose  I  give  you  the  opportunity  ? ' 

"  That  might  be  advisable,"  replied 
the  senior  deacon  thoughtfully,  "  even 
if  it  is  a  little  out  of  order.  It  won't 
take  us  long,  Mr.  Cotton.  We  '11  call 
you." 

"Very  well,"  assented  the  minister. 
He  rose  at  once  and  left  the  room;  he  did 
not  seek  his  wife ;  they  had  talked  this 
thing  out  till  there  was  nothing  more 
to  be  said  ;  the  minister  had  been  forced 
to  observe  that  Mrs.  Cotton  underwent 
variations  of  this  painful  theme ;  he 
119 


THE    MAN    IN    THE    CASE 

could  not  at  any  given  crisis  in  the 
affair  predicate  that  her  opinion  would 
or  would  not  coincide  with  his  own. 
He  paced  the  oil-cloth  of  his  little  dark 
entry  hotly  till  his  committee  recalled 
him. 

"Well,  gentlemen  ?"  he  began. 

But  he  saw  before  they  spoke  that 
they  had  decided  against  him.  The 
elderly  minister  had  never  played  lackey 
to  his  committee.  But  he  knew  them. 
He  made  no  idle  attempt  to  dissuade 
them  from  their  purpose,  but  seemed 
rather  suddenly  to  fall  into  step  with 
it. 

"  I  see  that  you  intend  to  act  in  this 
matter.  Perhaps  it  is  as  well,"  he  said 
unexpectedly.  "  It  will  satisfy  you. 
And  it  won't  "  —  but  he  paused.  He 
could  not  say  that  the  official  censure 
of  her  church  would  not  harm  the 

120 


THE    MAN    IN    THE    CASE 

arraigned  church-member.  He  con 
tented  himself  with  asking  the  sub 
committee  to  report  the  result  of  their 
effort  at  once,  and,  when  they  had 
hurried  over  the  necessary  formalities 
which  intervened,  the  clerk,  the  senior 
deacon,  and  the  theological  member 
put  on  their  hats  and  went  out. 

In  a  short  time  —  a  very  short  time 
—  they  returned. 

It  was  a  warm  September  night,  and 
one  of  the  study  windows  was  open. 
The  committee,  as  they  came  up  the 
concrete  walk,  saw  the  tall  figure  of 
their  minister  pacing  the  floor  with  an 
unendurable  nervousness.  The  junior 
deacon,  who  was  not  a  nervous  person, 
sat  reading  the  denominational  weekly. 
The  rich  member  was  casting  up  ac 
counts  in  his  pocket  diary.  These  two 

121 


THE    MAN    IN    THE    CASE 

men  got  to  their  feet  at  once,  and  the 
minister  ran  like  a  boy  to  open  the 
front  door. 

"  Gentlemen,"  he  began  eagerly, 
"  you  made  a  short  call." 

"  Long  enough,"  snapped  the  senior 
deacon.  "  Too  darned  long  in  my 
opinion." 

Now  history  recorded  not  in  that 
parish  the  time  when  the  senior  deacon 
had  been  heard  to  say  "  darn."  The 
minister  allowed  himself  a  secular 
laugh. 

"  We  must  appoint  a  committee  to 
call  on  you,  my  brother,"  he  suggested 
pleasantly.  Then  he  repeated  his  phrase. 

"  Well,  gentlemen  ?  " 

He  turned  the  key  in  the  study  door, 
and  the  six  church  officers  confronted 
each  other  for  a  moment  in  silence. 
The  gravity  of  their  position  now 


122 


THE    MAN    IN    THE    CASE 

urged  itself  upon  the  lightest  of  them  ; 
and  none  of  them  were  careless  men. 

"Well?"  reiterated  the  pastor. 

"  I  move,"  said  the  senior  deacon, 
"  that  we  proceed  with  the  case.  It 
should  come  before  the  church." 

"  I  second  the  motion,"  said  the 
theological  member  eagerly.  "It  is  a 
clear  instance  of  falling  from  grace." 

"  Our  sister  seems  to  me  to  be  a  sad 
woman,"  ventured  the  little  clerk. 
"  And  a  comely.  I  regretted  our  er 
rand  when  we  had  accomplished  it." 

"  I  did  noty"  said  the  senior  deacon. 
"We  were  not  received  in  a  proper 
manner." 

"May  I  ask,"  inquired  the  pastor, 
"  how  you  were  received?" 

"As  if  she  had  been  the  Queen  of 
Heaven,  sir.    She  had  that  —  that  gen 
eral  appearance,  sir." 
123 


THE    MAN    IN    THE    CASE 

"She  gave  no  evidence  of  conviction 
of  sin,"  said  the  theological  member. 

"  She  had  a  beautiful  collie  with 
her,"  deprecated  the  little  clerk. 

"A  vicious  dog,"  urged  the  theolo 
gical  member.  "He  snapped  at  me 
twice." 

"She  did  not  even  ask  us  to  be 
seated,"  complained  the  senior  deacon. 

The  pastor  bit  off  an  unsanctified  ex 
clamation  between  his  teeth.  There 
dashed  before  him  a  flashlight  of  the 
scene  —  that  desolate,  delicate  woman 
—  those  three  well-meaning,  stupid 
Christians  —  the  insolent  nature  of 
their  errand  —  they  men,  all  men! 

"  There  should  have  been  a  woman 
among  you  if  you  had  to  go!"  blazed 
the  minister. 

"The  polity  of  our  church  does  not 
place  females  upon  the  governing 
124 


THE    MAN    IN    THE    CASE 

board,"  the  theological  member  re 
minded  him. 

"  Then  it  ought  to ! "  cried  the  elderly 
minister,  "and  I  have  been  preaching 
forty  years  and  never  thought  of  it  till 
this  minute." 

The  Rev.  Eliakim  Cotton  was  a 
man,  as  we  have  said,  and  for  a  mo 
ment's  span  he  could  have  cried 
"  Shame  !  "  upon  his  ecclesiastical  of 
ficers.  But  he  had  the  graciousness  of 
his  wide  experience,  and  of  his  large 
heart,  on  which  saint  and  sinner  both 
must  lean. 

"They  think  they  are  doing  right," 
he  thought.  "They, too,  must  be  led." 

His  closed  hand  relaxed ;  it  fell  upon 
the  open  Testament  on  his  study  table. 
He  wheeled  in  his  chair,  and  turned 
his  pale  face  instinctively  towards  the 
Leonardo's  Christ.  He  did  not  look 
125 


THE    MAN    IN    THE    CASE 

at  Oliver  Cromwell  ;  and  John  Calvin 
was  behind  him. 

"  My  brothers,"  he  said  gently,  "  be 
fore  you  decide  this  question  I  should 
like  to  say  a  little  more  about  it." 

Then  the  Rev.  Eliakim  Cotton  be 
gan  to  talk. 

It  was  then  well  after  nine  o'clock. 
It  was  past  ten  when  the  church  officers 
left  the  study,  and  quietly  separated 
for  the  night.  When  the  door  closed 
upon  the  last  of  them  (it  happened  to 
be  the  theological  member)  the  Rev. 
Mr.  Cotton  ran  to  the  foot  of  the  stairs 
and  eagerly  called  his  wife:  - 

"Maria?  Maria!  Come  down,  please. 
I  want  you  to  accompany  me  on  an 
errand  of  Christian  mercy." 

"Where?"  asked  Mrs.  Cotton,  "and 
what  for?" 

She  stood  in  her  wrapper,  with  her 
126 


THE    MAN    IN    THE    CASE 

arms  upraised;  she  was  putting  her 
gray  hair  in  crimping-pins  for  the 
night. 

"We  are  going  to  Joan  Dare's  at 
once  -  -  immediately.  Come,  Maria  ! 
Put  your  things  on,  won't  you  ?  I  will 
explain  on  the  way  over." 

"  I  've  got  a  headache,"  urged  the 
minister's  wife. 

The  minister  whirled  on  the  heel  of 
his  well-worn  boot. 

"Very  well,"  he  said.  "Then  I 
must  go  without  you." 

"  Oh,  but  you  can't  do  that.  It 
would  n't  do,  Mr.  Cotton.  You  would 
be  talked  about." 

"When  I  'm  afraid  of  being  talked 
about,"  returned  Mr.  Cotton  slowly, 
"  I  will  give  up  preaching.  I  suppose 
if  I  went  to  hell  after  a  lost  soul  the 
parish  would  talk  about  it.  But  my 
127 


THE    MAN    IN    THE    CASE 

parish  knows  I  should  go  if  I  thought 
I  ought  to." 

"  You  put  me  in  a  hard  position," 
complained  Mrs. Cotton,  "and  it  would 
take  me  so  long  to  dress  —  Eliakim  ? 
Eliakim!" 

But  the  Reverend  Eliakim  Cotton 
had  left  the  house.  He  walked  rapidly, 
squaring  his  bent  shoulders ;  he  held 
his  gray  head  high ;  his  thin  hands 
hung  clenched  at  his  sides.  He  had  a 
headache,  too,  though  he  had  not  men 
tioned  it,  and  his  eyes  were  tired  and 
strained.  As  he  walked,  these  tricked 
him  somehow,  for  the  picture  on  the 
revolving  bookcase  appeared  to  move 
and  swing  before  him  through  the 
deserted  streets  of  Mapleleaf.  Now  in 
darkness,  then  in  light  —  now  with  a 
tremor  on  the  lip,  then  with  a  tear  on 
the  cheek — the  saddest  and  the  strong- 
128 


THE    MAN    IN    THE    CASE 

est  Christ  of  all  that  art  has  offered 
Christianity  followed  the  old  pastor  all 
the  way. 

The  lights  were  still  burning  in  the 
house  of  Joan  Dare. 

"I  am  glad  of  that,"  he  thought  — 
he  ran  up  the  steps  like  a  boy —  "or 
else  I  might  have  had  to  give  it  up." 

He  did  not  ring,  but  lifted  the 
knocker  gently ;  the  fate  with  the 
muzzled  mouth  called  three  times. 
That  had  been  the  minister's  knock 
ever  since  Joan  could  remember ;  she 
recognized  it,  and  opened  the  door  at 
once. 

The  pastor  came  in  without  a  word, 
and  stood  in  the  middle  of  the  library. 
Joan,  in  her  long  gray  dress,  stood 
opposite  him.  Her  face  had  the  wiz 
ened  look  of  an  animal  that  is  aging 
from  physical  pain. 
129 


THE    MAN    IN    THE    CASE 

"Joan,   I've  come  to  tell  you  " 
he  began.    But  she  put  up  her  hand  as 
if  she  warded  off  a  blow. 

"  Don't !  "  she  entreated. 

"  Oh,  you  poor  girl !  "  cried  the  min 
ister.  "  How  you  suffer  !  " 

He  was  a  tall  man,  as  we  have  no 
ticed,  and  he  looked  down  at  Joan's 
upturned  face.  Afterwards  he  said  of  it : 

"  I  have  never  seen  anything  like  it 
on  any  human  countenance.  It  was  as 
if  I  saw  the  riven  side." 

"  There,  there,  my  dear,"  said  the 
pastor.  "  I  came  to  tell  you  —  I  have 
conferred  with  my  committee.  No 
thing  will  come  of  it,  Joan.  This  eccle 
siastical  tornado  has  blown  itself  out.  I 
am  here  to  tell  you  not  to  distress  your 
self  I  thought,"  he  added,  "you 
would  sleep  better  to  know." 

But  Joan  had  sunk  upon  the  nearest 
130 


THE    MAN    IN    THE    CASE 

chair  and  hid  her  face.  Since  she  was 
a  girl,  when  she  had  great  troubles  to 
bear,  the  minister  had  never  seen  this 
self-possessed  woman  cry.  He  dashed 
his  own  hand  across  his  dim  eyes  and 
let  her  sob  it  out.  He  wished  he  had 
been  a  woman,  that  he  might  have 
taken  her  in  his  arms  and  comforted 
her. 

"  It  's  the  insult !  "  she  moaned. 
"  It  's  the  —  disgrace  !  ' 

While  he  stood  looking  at  her  with 
his  hands  locked  behind  his  black  coat, 
the  front  door  opened  without  ring  or 
knock,  and  the  swish  of  a  woman's 
skirt  crossed  the  library  floor. 

The  minister's  wife  had  thrown  her 
long  raincoat  over  her  wrapper ;  her 
gray  hair  was  half  in  crimping-pins,  half 
astray  upon  her  wrinkled  forehead  ;  she 
was  not  a  picturesque  or  aesthetic  sight ; 


THE    MAN    IN    THE    CASE 

but  something  in  her  expression  made 
her  a  beautiful  one  at  that  moment  to 
her  old  husband.  He  stood  aside,  and 
turned  his  face  away,  as  she  flung  her 
thin  arms  around  Joan's  shaken  shoul 
ders  and  kissed  the  stricken  girl  upon 
the  cheek. 

"They're  nothing  but  men,  Joan," 
said  the  pastor's  wife.  "What  could 
you  expect  ? " 

Joan  slept  little  and  lightly  that 
night,  and  at  half-past  four  in  the  morn 
ing  she  was  thoroughly  awakened. 
Strange  sounds,  muffled  and  stealthy, 
were  in  the  house.  Now  and  then  she 
had  heard  something  of  the  kind  dur 
ing  the  last  year,  and  never  without  a 
sense  of  uneasiness.  She  had  not  been 
able  to  find  any  sufficient  explanation 
of  the  disturbance,  or  of  certain  inci- 
132 


THE    MAN    IN    THE    CASE 

dents  which  had  accompanied  it,  and 
experienced  the  discomfort  of  one  who 
will  not  accept  the  mystical,  and  cannot 
supply  the  exact  hypothesis. 

She  recalled  all  that  she  had  read  of 
supernatural  phenomena,  but  without 
mental  hospitality.  Her  robust,  practi 
cal  temperament  recoiled  from  the 
occult. 

"  There  is  an  explanation  of  every 
thing,"  she  thought.  "Perhaps  I  shall 
get  this  one  now.  I  may  find  out  how 
those  things  were  done  for  me." 

She  sprang  for  her  slippers  and  gown, 
and  trailed  softly  down  the  stairs. 

All  houses  are  haunted.  Ghosts  that 
do  not  come  under  the  classification  of 
the  Psychical  Research  Society  —  the 
love,  passion,  sin,  joy,  anguish,  sanctity, 
blasphemy,  of  family  life  -  -  wander 
and  contend  like  spirits  forever  within 


THE    MAN    IN    THE    CASE 

the  walls  of  human  homes.  So  sur 
charged  does  a  house  become  with  the 
experience  of  its  occupants  that  a  man 
with  the  discomfort  of  imagination 
clamors  for  the  right  to  build  his  own 
roof,  to  haunt  it  with  his  own  person 
ality,  and  hand  it  down  in  turn  to  ten 
ants  less  sensitive  than  himself. 

With  ghosts  like  these  the  house  of 
Josiah  Dare  had  long  been  full.  Added 
to  their  tragic  company  were  there  any 
of  the  other  sort  ? 

Joan  admitted  asking  herself  the 
question;  but  she  went  down  the  back 
stairs  stoutly,  and  with  a  colorless  face 
on  which  the  smile  of  a  skeptic  and 
the  nerves  of  a  woman  warred,  pushed 
open  the  kitchen  door. 

She  had  made  no  sound  in  doing  this, 
and  her  entrance  did  not  disturb  the 
occupant  or  occupants  of  the  kitchen, 


THE    MAN    IN    THE    CASE 

if  any  such  were  there.  Indeed,  if  there 
were  any,  they  were  invisible,  and  Joan 
was  conscious  of  a  clutch  at  the  heart 
when  she  perceived  that  this  was  the 
fact. 

In  the  range  a  fire,  built,  it  seemed, 
without  hands,  was  burning  heartily ; 
Joan  noticed  that  one  of  the  covers  was 
red  hot. 

"It  has  been  going  a  good  while," 
she  thought. 

Bread  kneaded,  it  seemed,  without 
fingers,  was  in  the  oven.  A  boiler 
lifted  without  explicable  agency  stood 
steaming  on  the  coals.  The  floor  was 
washed,  and  the  windows.  The  table 
was  scoured,  and  the  faucets.  Joan 
went  to  the  door.  The  key  hung  in  its 
place  by  its  leathern  tag  on  the  nail  by 
the  jamb.  She  tried  the  door.  It  was 
locked.  At  that  moment  she  became 
'35 


THE    MAN    IN    THE    CASE 

aware  that  a  rhythmical  sound  which 
she  was  sure  she  had  heard  when  she 
stepped  from  the  stairs  to  the  kitchen, 
had  abruptly  ceased.  The  kitchen  was 
perfectly  still.  The  room  was  filled 
with  the  unreal  light  of  dawn. 

As  Joan  stood  in  it,  confused  and 
hesitating,  she  saw  a  yellow  crack  at 
the  bottom  of  a  closed  door  flare  and 
go  out  like  extinguished  gas.  Hurry 
ing  to  this  door,  which  led  to  the 
laundry,  she  stumbled  over  a  chair;  her 
hands  touched  and  clutched  at  some 
thing  soft ;  this  she  drew  to  the  window 
and  examined. 

It  was  a  woman's  garment ;  a  Scotch 
plaid  golf  cape,  whose  pattern  and  col 
ors  sent  the  blood  driving  fast  through 
Joan's  veins. 

She  struck  a  match,  lit  a  lamp  and 
holding  it,  she  could  not  have  told  why, 
'36 


THE    MAN    IN    THE    CASE 

high  above  her  head,  as  if  she  had  far 
to  search,  opened  the  door  into  the 
laundry  and  went  in. 

Forcing  itself  against  the  wall  as  if 
it  would  force  itself  through  to  escape 
detection,  a  deprecating  figure  huddled. 

Plainly  it  was  the  figure  of  a  woman, 
and  Joan's  courage  lifted.  Who  could 
say  why  a  woman's  ghost  should  be 
more  harmless  than  a  man's?  It  is 
doubtful  if  history  would  reinforce 
Joan's  assumption. 

With  wet  arms  bared  above  the 
elbows,  with  red,  parboiled  hands  be 
fore  her  face,  the  intruder  uttered  four 
short  words :  — 

"  Oh,  Miss  Joan  dear  !  " 

"  Mary  Caroline,"  began  Joan 
sternly,  "what  does  this  mean  ?" 

But  her  trembling  lips  refused  her, 
and  when  Mary  Caroline  held  up  her 


THE    MAN    IN    THE    CASE 

dripping  hands,  Joan  caught  and  clasped 
them  impetuously  —  no  ghosts  they, 
but  warm,  living,  loving  hands,  big, 
work-worn  faithful  hands  —  the  hands 
that  had  served  her  and  toiled  for  her 
with  the  passion  of  self-effacement  that 
only  women  know,  and  which  they 
may  offer  to  another  woman  as  ro 
mantically  and  as  loyally  as  to  the 
master,  man. 

"  What  are  you  doing  here  ?  "  asked 
Joan  as  soon  as  she  could  speak.  But 
her  eyes  answered  her  own  question. 

"  Your  washin',"  sobbed  Mary  Caro 
line.  "  I  did  n't  suppose  I  'd  get  caught 
at  it.  I  'd  a-got  'em  all  out  on  the  line 
by  half-past  six  —  I  see  you  at  it," 
added  Mary  Caroline,  "  nights  after 
dark.  I  can't  stand  it,  that's  all." 

"  Mary  Caroline,"  began  Joan,  across 
whose  face  revelation  was  slowly  steal- 
138 


THE    MAN    IN    THE    CASE 

ing,  "  was  it  you  who  hung  out  those 
clothes  once  when  I  left  the  basket 
under  the  lines  ?  When  I  came  back 
they  were  all  up." 

"That  was  me,"  replied  Mary  Caro 
line. 

"  Was  it  you  that  baked  the  biscuits 
and  the  pies  and  washed  the  floor  that 
day  —  at  the  beginning  ?  " 

"Yes,  that  was  me." 

"  Was  it  you  who  did  the  ironing 
three  weeks  ago  in  the  night?  Mary 
Caroline,  was  it  you  who  gave  the 
kitchen  a  spring  cleaning  ?  And  was  it 
you  Martin  Luther  roared  at  so  last 
week  at  five  o'clock  —  that  time  he 
tumbled  down  the  cellar  stairs  ?" 

"  That  was  all  me,"  said  Mary  Caro 
line  with  hanging  head.  She  began  to 
cry,  as  if  she  had  been  a  guilty  child. 
"  Don't  scold  me  for  it!  " 


THE    MAN    IN    THE    CASE 

Joan's  lip  quivered. 

"  I  had  to  do  it,"  pleaded  Mary  Car 
oline.  "  I  had  to  do  it." 

"Where  do  you  come  from?"  de 
manded  Joan.  "  What  are  you  doing  ? 
Where  are  you  staying  ?  Why  do  you 
take  all  this  trouble  for  me,  —  dear 
Mary  Caroline !  " 

Mary  Caroline  went  to  the  laundry 
window  and  dashed  the  shade  up.  She 
pointed  across  the  hollow  to  the  short 
"  unaccepted  "  street  that  cut  between 
the  square  and  the  trolley  lines.  An 
acre  of  Miss  Dare's  oaks  and  maples 
rose  beyond  the  little  garden  fore 
ground,  in  which  the  fire  of  nastur 
tiums  and  salvia,  half  quenched  by  frost, 
seemed  to  smoke  and  flare  up  before  it 
went  out. 

"  Me  and  my  sister  have  rented  that 
house,"  said  Mary  Caroline  quietly. 
140 


THE    MAN    IN    THE    CASE 

"  Them  was  her  young  ones  that  you 
see  playin'  round  there  that  day  you 
stood  lookin'  a  long  time.  I  got  be 
hind  the  hen  coop.  Thanks  be  to 
mercy  you  did  n't "  — 

"But  I  did!  I  see  now  that  I  did 
recognize  you.  It  was  so  incredible,  so 
impossible  that  I  dismissed  it  from  my 
mind.  Mary  Caroline,  what  are  you 
doing  this  thing  for?" 

"To  be  nigh  you,"  said  Mary  Car 
oline.  "  I  had  to  do  it." 

"But  how  do  you  manage?  You 
would  not  take  money  from  me — at 
the  first." 

"  No,  nor  I  won't  now,  Miss  Joan." 

"Do  you  mind  telling  me  how  you 
are  living?" 

"  Oh,  I  take  in  or  go  out,"  replied 
Mary  Caroline  carelessly.  "  It  don't 

matter  much.    I  get  along.    I  can  set 
141 


THE    MAN    IN    THE    CASE 

there  of  an  evenin'  and  watch  your 
lights  till  they  go  out — there!  I  must 
put  them  drafts  off  my  stove." 

Mary  Caroline  dashed  into  the 
kitchen,  and  Miss  Dare  followed  her 
slowly.  When  Mary  Caroline  had 
closed  the  drafts,  the  two  women  stood 
and  regarded  each  other  with  a  con 
scious  awkwardness. 

Into  Joan's  puzzled  eyes  a  swift  in 
terrogation  ran.  Her  glance  fell  upon 
the  closed  door,  whose  key  hung  from 
its  leathern  strap  upon  the  nail  beside 
the  jamb. 

"Mary  Caroline,"  she  said  abruptly, 
"  I  can't  understand  yet  how  you  got 
into  this  house.  The  house  is  always 
locked,  and  the  key  is  always  out." 

"There    ain't     no     bolt,"    returned 
Mary  Caroline  with  a  grim  smile.    "I 
get  in  with  my  own  key." 
142 


THE    MAN    IN    THE    CASE 

"Your  own  key?" 

"Why,  yes,  that  there  dooplicate  you 
give  me  when  I  went  out  evenin's.  I 
kep'  it  in  my  pocket.  It  has  ben  there 
ever  since." 

From  the  pocket  of  her  wet  dress, 
drenched  with  suds,  Mary  Caroline 
forthwith  produced  an  old  back-door 
key. 

"Do  you  want  it?"  she  deprecated. 
"  It 's  yourn." 

Joan  shook  her  head  gently,  and 
Mary  Caroline  restored  the  key  to  her 
pocket  with  a  smile  of  ecstasy. 

"  I  don't  know  what  to  say,"  began 
Joan  lamely.  "It  is  divine;  but  it  is 
dangerous,  Mary  Caroline." 

"Marm?"  said  Mary  Caroline. 

"  I  can't  bear  to  say  —  I  don't  want 
to  tell  you  —  I  don't  know  isohat  to 
say  !  "  cried  Miss  Dare  miserably.  Her 


THE    MAN    IN    THE    CASE 

clear  gaze  clouded  before  the  steady 
eyes  of  her  old  servant. 

"Seems  to  me  I  'm  about  as  fit  to  be 
trusted  's  anybody  I  know  on,"  sug 
gested  Mary  Caroline,  with  dignity. 
There  seemed  something  almost  like  a 
reversal  of  their  positions ;  as  if  the 
mistress  had  in  some  unexpected  sense 
become  answerable  to  the  maid. 

"As  fit,"  replied  Joan  quickly,  "as 
any  person  I  know  in  the  world.  But 
I  have  nothing  to  say,  Mary  Caroline 
—  not  even  to  you." 

"  I  did  n't  s'pose  you  had,"  said  Mary 
Caroline  quietly.  "You  Ve  grown  aw 
ful  peaked,"  she  added.  "I  don't 
wonder,  seein  's  you  have  to  eat  your 
own  cookin'.  I  've  got  two  pies  in  the 
oven  besides  the  biscuits." 

"I  must  go,"  cried  Joan  suddenly; 
she  turned  her  fine  head  with  a  hunted 
144 


THE    MAN    IN    THE    CASE 

motion  like  that  of  a  listening  animal. 
"I  must  go  now,  dear  Mary  Caroline." 

"  I  shall  finish  that  there  washin'," 
Mary  Caroline  announced.  "  I  don't 
know  's  I  care  what  you  say.  I  ain't 
a-goin'  to  leave  it  in  the  suds  —  say  ! 
Miss  Joan?" 

Joan,  with  her  hand  on  the  knob  of 
the  half-open  door,  paused  at  the  foot 
of  the  stairs.  As  she  did  so  she  shut 
the  door  again,  and  stood  with  her  back 
against  it. 

"  Miss  Joan,"  said  Mary  Caroline, 
"  I  hain't  nothin'  to  say  but  this  here 
one  thing.  By  all  them  years  I  done 
for  you  —  you  promise  me  one  pro 
mise,  an'  I  won't  ask  ye  no  more." 

"I'm  in  something  of  a  hurry," 
replied  Joan,  resuming  her  natural 
manner.  "  Tell  me  what  it  is,  Mary 
Caroline.  I  will  consider  it." 


THE    MAN    IN    THE    CASE 

"  See  that  there  red  tablecloth  ?  " 
Mary  Caroline  pointed  to  the  clothes- 
horse  which  was  standing  before  the 
range.  "  It 's  most  dry  now.  It  needed 
washin'  somethin'  awful  -  -  Miss  Joan, 
if  ever  you  need  me  quick  and  turrible 
-  will  you  hang  that  there  tablecloth 
outen  the  laundry  window?" 

The  tears  smarted  to  Joan's  haggard 
eyes. 

"  I  promise  you  I  will !  Dear  Mary 
Caroline  !  I  will  indeed." 

"  An'  you  remember,"  said  Mary 
Caroline  solemnly,  "  thar  I  be?" 

"  I  will  remember,"  sighed  Miss 
Dare.  A  piteous  smile  shone  for  an 
instant  upon  Mary  Caroline,  and  then 
the  door  closed  swiftly  and  quietly 
between  herself  and  it. 

When    Miss    Dare   went    into    the 
146 


THE    MAN    IN    THE    CASE 

kitchen  to  get  breakfast  her  week's 
washing  hung  flapping  merrily  on  the 
line  in  a  high  September  wind,  and 
Mary  Caroline  was  gone.  When  Joan 
went  into  the  laundry  she  saw  that 
Mary  Caroline  had  omitted  to  wash 
one  article.  This  was  a  necktie,  a 
summer  tie  of  striped  cotton  stuff;  it 
might,  or  it  might  not  have  been  part 
of  a  man's  wardrobe.  Mary  Caroline 
had  folded  it  very  neatly  upon  the 
shelf  above  the  tubs  and  left  it  there. 
Joan's  ringers  closed  over  it  slowly. 


CHAPTER   VI 


VIL  report  is  a  thistle 
down  floating  before  the 
eye,  a  bird  fluttering  above 
the  hand,  a  ball  and  chain 
clamped  upon  the  feet,  a 
weight  locked  around  the  neck.  It 
eludes  reason,  it  flees  truth,  it  incar 
cerates  the  free,  it  drowns  the  swim 
ming. 

Sometimes  Joan  Dare  felt  herself 
barred  and  bolted  apart  from  human 
kind ;  she  sat  in  the  "  dark  solitary  " 
where  the  remorseless  judgment  of  men 
and  women  equally  immures  the  ar 
raigned,  the  convicted,  and  the  misun 
derstood.  At  other  times  she  seemed 
148 


THE    MAN    IN    THE    CASE 

to  herself  to  be  falling  down  depths 
unmeasured,  freighted  with  lead  to 
keep  her  there,  blindly  seeing  through 
fathoms  of  crushing  water  the  stir  of 
happy  keels  and  sails  upon  the  surface 
of  life. 

We  are  used  to  saying  that  health  is 
never  valued  until  it  is  lost,  nor  happi 
ness  unless  it  is  missed,  nor  affluence 
till  it  is  gone,  nor  position  unless  it  is 
obscured.  Which  of  us  estimates  the 
simple  value  of  fair  fame  ?  Who  of  us 
appraises  the  common,  unnoticed  prop 
erty  of  an  unblemished  name  ?  For  a 
good  reputation,  who  takes  the  trouble 
to  thank  God  ? 

One  warm  night  when  Joan  sat  on 
her  doorsteps  in  the  soft  autumn  dark, 
the  south  wind  took  the  voices  of 
passers  on  the  concrete  sidewalk  and 
flung  at  her  these  words :  - 
149 


THE    MAN    IN    THE    CASE 

"  We  ain't  anyways  uncommon,  our 
family  ain't.  None  of  us  ever  did  any 
great  thing.  We  ain't  famous,  nor  ed 
ucated,  nor  rich  —  we're  just  plain 
folks.  But  there 's  one  thing  we  've 
always  had,  and  that 's  f^racter.  I  tell 
you,  sir,  it's  more  precious  than  rubies" 

Joan  recognized  the  voice ;  it  was 
that  of  a  neighbor,  a  working-man, 
a  poor,  uninteresting  man  ;  nobody 
thought  much  about  him,  or  indeed 
much  of  him  ;  he  used  to  take  care  of 
her  furnace ;  she  could  scarcely  recall 
his  name. 

Her  leaping  heart  scorched  her  face. 

"  They  are  talking  about  me,"  she 
thought.  She  could  well  have  changed 
lots  with  this  stupid,  irreproachable 
person,  and  blessed  Heaven  for  the 
chance. 

The  neighborhood  gossip  of  Maple- 
150 


THE    MAN    IN    THE    CASE 

leaf  was  not  peculiarly  cruel ;  less  so, 
perhaps,  than  that  of  some  larger  or 
smaller  places.  It  was  and  is  a  kindly, 
well-meaning  suburb,  too  much  in 
volved  with  the  overlapping  of  metro 
politan  life  to  find  leisure  for  the  paltry 
curiosity  of  more  remote  and  less  busy, 
or  more  active  and  less  conscientious 
communities. 

The  mystery  which  hung,  or  which 
appeared  to  hang,  over  Josiah  Dare's 
daughter  was  not  brutally  treated  ;  only 
naturally,  perhaps  ;  but,  if  the  village 
criticism  had  been  of  a  ruder  variety, 
it  could  not  have  doomed  her  to  a 
solitude  more  definite  or  more  sad. 

The  too  punctilious  recognition,  the 
too  mechanical  smile,  the  cool,  cour 
teous  salutation,  the  silent  avoidance 
hurt  more  subtly  than  the  direct  in 
sult.  Her  delicate  flesh  received  poi- 


THE    MAN    IN    THE    CASE 

soned  assegais  rather  than  bludgeon 
blows. 

Mapleleaf  was,  in  fact,  one  large 
family ;  and  when  it  became  known, 
as  everything  does  become  known,  in 
such  neighborhoods,  that  the  church 
had  censured,  and,  it  was  suspected,  had 
narrowly  escaped  excommunicating 
Joan  Dare,  she  found  herself  the  ob 
ject  of  a  scandal  the  more  serious  be 
cause  no  one  expressed  it  to  her  in  so 
many  barbarous  words. 

Averted  looks  turned  from  her  in 
public  places.  People  crossed  the  street 
to  avoid  meeting  her.  Customers  in 
stores  were  zealously  busy  at  counters 
when  she  approached.  Her  friends 
dropped  like  fading  flowers  in  a  steady, 
rising  wind.  Her  oldest  and  best  proved 
no  exception  to  the  general  retreat ; 
Mrs.  Hammerton  had  ceased  to  visit 
152 


THE    MAN    IN    THE    CASE 

her;  Mrs.  Cotton  came  several  times, 
but  she  could  not,  though,  to  do  her 
justice,  she  honestly  meant  to,  divest 
herself  of  that  pointedly  Christian  man 
ner  which  Joan  found  so  trying ;  and 
the  attempts  of  the  minister's  wife  to 
do  her  duty  by  the  harassed  woman 
were,  on  the  whole,  little  or  no  com 
fort.  Mrs.  Cotton  had  exhausted  her 
sympathetic  inspirations  on  that  even 
ing  when  she  came  to  heal  the  gashes 
made  by  the  church  committee,  who 
were  "  nothing  but  men."  She  found 
it  difficult  in  colder  and  heavier  air  to 
rise  to  heights  so  fine. 

But  the  Reverend  Eliakim  Cotton 
persisted  with  a  celestial  obstinacy  in 
befriending  the  unfriended  woman ; 
Joan  found  herself  unable  to  distance 
the  simple,  dogged,  Christian  manliness 
of  her  pastor.  He  would  neither  desert 
'53 


THE    MAN    IN    THE    CASE 

her  nor  neglect  her.  He  ignored  her 
rebuffs,  and  overlooked  the  recoil  from 
sympathy  which  suffering  developed  in 
her.  But  this  priestly  oversight  was, 
of  course,  only  an  occasional  break  in 
the  monotonous  solitude  of  her  life. 

With  the  loyalty  of  her  lover  Joan 
owned  it  harder  to  contend.  Douglas 
Ray  defended  and  guarded  the  ostra 
cized  girl  as  if  he  had  the  right  to  do 
so  which  she  had  denied  him.  It  mat 
tered  nothing  to  him  that  she  fended 
off  his  sympathy,  declined  every  practi 
cal  service  which  he  would  have  ren 
dered  her,  and  forbade  his  presence  in 
her  house.  If  he  absented  himself,  it 
was  for  her  sake.  He  protected  her 
reputation  as  if  it  had  been  that  of  his 
sister ;  and  laid  his  silent  homage  at 
her  feet  as  if  she  had  been  his  promised 
wife.  He  had  long  ceased  to  ask  for 
154 


THE    MAN    IN    THE    CASE 

explanations  of  the  course  of  life  that 
she  pursued.  In  spite  of  it,  and  without 
them,  he  preserved  an  allegiance  whose 
existence  she  felt  as  one  feels  the  influ 
ence  of  a  range  of  hills,  distant  but 
powerful.  In  the  old  Scriptural  phrase, 
she  "  lifted  up  her  eyes  "  to  it.  But  she 
did  not  tell  him  so. 

On  the  rare  occasions  when  they 
met,  he  found  her  pale  and  quiet.  She 
remained  calm  and  dumb.  She  wrapped 
herself  in  a  reserve  on  whose  dignity 
her  own  mother  could  not  have  in 
fringed.  She  had  the  expression  of  a 
woman  whose  thoughts  are  high,  but 
whose  attitude  cannot  be.  Her  nature 
seemed  to  stoop,  as  if  under  invisible 
burdens ;  her  soul,  we  might  say,  had 
begun  to  grow  round-shouldered  be 
neath  its  load.  She  had  lost  the  joyous 
erectness  of  one  who  has  the  confidence 


THE    MAN    IN    THE    CASE 

and  the  respect  of  her  fellow-townsmen. 
She  had  acquired  the  furtive  look  of 
the  hunted.  Her  candid  eye  evaded 
her  neighbors. 

Half  with  censure,  half  with  pity, 
and  always  with  the  irritated  wonder 
of  the  unimaginative  when  confronted 
with  a  mystery,  the  people  of  Maple- 
leaf  watched  the  movements  of  the 
solitary  woman. 

In  her  dull  gray  gown  she  faced  them 
when  she  must,  or  eluded  them  when 
she  could.  Joan  now  almost  always 
wore  gray  —  who  could  say  why  ?  -  -  as 
if  her  misfortunes  had  selected  a  uni 
form.  Who  can  explain  why  a  woman 
clothes  her  experience  with  its  kindred 
or  its  complementary  colors  ? 

There  were  not  wanting  a  few  ob 
servers,  lovers  of  the  theatre,  who  half 
unconsciously  associated  Joan  Dare  with 
156 


THE    MAN    IN    THE    CASE 

a  popular  play  at  that  time  on  the 
boards  in  the  city,  and  represented  by 
actors  of  an  excellent  grade. 

"  I  can't  help  it !  I  cannot  help  it !  " 
admitted  Mrs.  Hammerton  in  a  guilty 
whisper.  "  But  those  gray  things  keep 
reminding  me  of  Hester  Prynne." 

Mrs.  Hammerton  had  selected  Mrs. 
Cotton  as  the  recipient  of  this  confi 
dence  ;  as  if  the  fact  that  she  was  the 
wife  of  a  minister  palliated  or  even 
sanctified  the  confession. 

"  Hester  Prynne  ?  "  asked  Mrs.  Cot 
ton  with  a  frown  of  gentle  perplexity. 

"  Why,  don't  you  know  ?  In  the 
« Scarlet  Letter.'  All  Joan  lacks  of  it 
is  that  long  gray  veil  and  -  -  one  other 
thing." 

"  Oh,  the  «  Scarlet  Letter'  !  "  replied 
Mrs.  Cotton.  She  was  familiar  with 
Hawthorne,  of  course  ;  every  educated 


THE    MAN    IN    THE    CASE 

woman  must  be.  But  the  minister's 
wife  did  not  attend  the  theatre.  She 
felt  the  limitations  of  her  ecclesiastical 
training  and  position  before  a  worldly 
experience.  To  her  mind  Annie  Ham- 
merton's  picturesque  impression  pre 
sented  no  definite  significance.  The 
lifeless,  loveless  draperies  of  Hester 
Prynne  upon  the  stage,  her  blanched 
face,  her  sumptuous  figure,  the  pathos 
of  her  haughty  bearing  in  public,  its 
more  pathetic  humility  in  solitude  - 
Hester,  derided  on  the  streets  with  her 
child  —  radiant  in  the  forest  with  her 
lover  -  -  proud  upon  the  scaffold  at  his 
side  -  -  and  always  Hester  with  the 
cunning  embroidery  scarlet  and  heavy 
on  her  breast  -  -  these  scenes  the  mind 
of  the  theatre-goer  carried  from  the 
play.  But  the  pastor's  wife  had  read 
the  book  a  good  while  ago. 
158 


THE    MAN    IN    THE    CASE 

In  the  now  desolate  and  difficult  life 
of  Joan  Dare,  one  woman  remained,  in 
the  ultimate  sense  of  the  word,  her 
friend.  Mary  Caroline  had  reached 
that  upper  altitude  of  human  loyalty 
which  is  content  "  not  to  question 
why."  With  an  intelligence  not  to  be 
expected  of  her  class,  and  a  reserve 
hitherto  foreign  to  herself  as  a  specimen 
of  it,  the  old  servant  seemed  to  have 
reasoned  herself  or  loved  herself  into 
such  a  tact  and  dedication  as  forced 
themselves  upon  the  acceptance  of  her 
mistress  whether  with  or  against  the 
lady's  will. 

Often,  perhaps  too  often,  Joan,  stand 
ing  in  the  laundry  window  which  com 
manded  the  pretty  foreground  of  garden, 
the  middle  distance  of  the  grove,  and 
the  perspective  of  the  unaccepted  street, 
perceived  the  stanch  figure  of  Mary 


THE    MAN    IN    THE    CASE 

Caroline  occupied  with  some  obvious 
excuse  for  being  where  it  was,  but  se 
cretly,  Joan  felt,  watchful  of  her  house 
and  of  herself.  She  could  have  iden 
tified  (she  was  now  sure)  the  room  in 
which  Mary  Caroline  slept  or  waked 
and  thought  of  her ;  its  light  burned 
far  into  the  night ;  its  shade  was  usually 
lifted ;  at  any  moment  a  figure  might 
fill  it,  with  arms  upraised  and  large 
hands  carried  to  its  eyes,  shutting  out 
the  light  to  penetrate  the  darkness. 

Often,  more  often  again,  Joan,  com 
ing  down  in  the  morning,  found  in  her 
kitchen  the  miracles  of  domestic  art 
against  whose  loving-kindness  she  had 
ceased  to  contend.  Every  household 
task  which  it  was  possible  for  the 
affectionate  burglar  with  the  duplicate 
latch-key  to  perform  within  the  house, 
at  hours  when  such  could  be  secretly 
160 


THE    MAN    IN    THE    CASE 

and  successfully  conducted,  Mary  Car 
oline  achieved  with  a  triumphant  skill. 
Joan  perceived  that  her  old  servant 
now  never,  in  her  wildest  or  tenderest 
depredations,  stepped  beyond  the  topog 
raphy  of  the  kitchen.  Mary  Caroline 
had  reached  the  point  of  self-effacement 
where  she  respected  the  will  of  her 
mistress,  if  not  the  nature  of  the  cir 
cumstances  which  separated  the  two. 
Joan,  in  the  darkening  dawns  of  au 
tumn,  listened  to  Mary  Caroline's 
stealthy  movements  downstairs,  and 
turned  and  slept.  Sometimes  she  said  : 
"Dear  Mary  Caroline!"  and  her  lip 
curved  tenderly ;  it  did  not  tremble ; 
her  eyes  were  bright  and  dry.  Joan 
had  ceased  to  exhibit  signs  of  emo 
tion.  It  was  as  if  she  now  experienced 
none. 


161 


THE    MAN    IN    THE    CASE 

It  was  not  long  after  the  visit  of  the 
church  committee  at  her  house  -  -  per 
haps  three  weeks  or  four  -  -  that  Joan 
went  out  one  afternoon  into  the  grove 
beyond  the  garden  with  her  books  and 
sewing  and  Martin  Luther.  It  was  one 
of  the  summer  days  which  may  burst 
like  a  blossom  from  the  dying  roots  of 
the  year.  It  was  so  warm  as  to  be 
oppressive,  and  so  dry  that  the  grove 
was  an  acre  of  tinder;  the  dead  leaves 
would  have  ignited  like  gunpowder  at 
a  match ;  the  moss  crackled  beneath 
the  foot  ;  in  the  garden  the  frosted 
flowers  tried  to  lift  their  heads  -  -  the 
salvia  could  not,  but  some  of  the  nas 
turtiums  did. 

Across  the  hollow  in  the  unaccepted 
street  the  figure  of  Mary  Caroline  passed 
to  and  fro  beneath  flapping  white  out 
lines  that  flung  themselves  about  in 
162 


THE    MAN    IN    THE    CASE 

a  rising  wind,  writhing  upon  a  clothes- 
reel  of  great  size.  No  weaker  woman 
than  Mary  Caroline  could  have  grap 
pled  with  it,  in  the  now  considerable 
breeze.  Miss  Dare,  with  a  sigh,  per 
ceived  these  indications  that  Mary  Car 
oline,  for  eighteen  years  proud  of  her 
position  as  a  trusted  family  servant,  had 
fallen  to  another  which  all  her  life  she 
would  have  scorned.  That  this  social 
descent  had  been  elected  for  her  sake, 
Miss  Dare  could  not  doubt.  She  re 
membered  Mary  Caroline's  parting 
words :  — 

"  Death  'n   hell    will    give   up    the 
things  that  are  in  them,  before  I   give 

up  feelin'  the  way  I  Ve  always  felt  to 

> » 
you. 

This  recollection  touched  Joan,  and 
when  a  footstep  crackled  on  the  dead 
leaves    of   the  grove,  and   she   turned 
163 


THE    MAN    IN    THE    CASE 

quickly  to  see  who  it  was,  her  face 
carried  a  softened,  suffused  appeal  — 
gentler  than  its  now  habitual  expres 
sion. 

Half-tints,  like  the  shadows  of  clouds 
or  the  wraiths  of  color,  chased  across 
her  cheeks  and  forehead,  when  she  per 
ceived  that  Douglas  Ray,  with  a  firm 
step,  was  coming  to  her  through  the 
complaining  leaves.  He  lifted  his  hat, 
but  did  not  speak.  Martin  Luther  had 
gone  to  meet  him  leisurely  ;  the  dog's 
hospitality  was  dignified  and  critical ; 
Martin  Luther  had  not  forgotten  the 
Morris  chair,  and  regarded  Douglas 
Ray  with  the  suspicion  of  the  collie's 
bitterest  memories. 

Joan  was  sitting  on  an  old  rustic  seat, 

moss-grown  between  two  pines,  whose 

needles  drifted  over  her,  and  upon  the 

magazines  and  work-basket  which  lay 

164 


THE    MAN    IN    THE    CASE 

beside  her.  Without  remark,  Ray  took 
these  things  off,  and  sat  down  in  the 
space  that  they  had  occupied.  This 
action  was  so  characteristic  of  him 
that  she  smiled  slowly.  It  was  a  good 
while  since  she  had  seen  him,  and  in 
spite  of  herself  her  eyes  leaned  towards 
him.  His  fed  upon  her  hungrily.  For  a 
poignant  moment  neither  weakened  the 
intensity  of  feeling  by  words.  Then, 
abruptly,  Joan  began  to  button  her 
long  coat,  and  stooped  for  her  hat,  which 
lay  on  the  leaves  at  her  feet.  An  iron 
hand  prevented  her. 

"What  are  you  going  to  do  ?  "  he 
demanded. 

"I'm  going  into  the  house." 

"Why?" 

"  I  told  you  not  to  come." 

"  You  forbade  me  the  house.    This 

is  not  the  house." 

165 


THE    MAN    IN    THE    CASE 

"But  you  may  be  —  will  be  seen.  I 
do  not  want  you  seen  here." 

"  Of  course  I  shall  be  seen.  That  is 
why  I  am  here.  The  whole  world  is 
welcome  to  see  me.  I  have  been  wait 
ing  for  just  such  a  chance.  I  hope  half 
Mapleleaf  will  see  me.  I  mean  it 
shall." 

Joan  put  her  pathetic  lips  together. 
She  continued  to  gather  her  books  and 
work,  and  extended  her  hand  for  the 
hat  that  he  held.  But  he  shook  his 
head. 

"  It  is  not  things  that  can  be  seen 
which  could  harm  you --Dear.  You 
know  I  would  not  do  anything  to  in 
jure  you  — not  if  I  never  saw  your  face 
again.  You  know  I  can  be  trusted  to  do 

what  is  really  best  for  you.   You  know  it, 

J>» 
oan. 

"  Yes,"  she  admitted  feebly.    "  I  do 
1 66 


THE    MAN    IN    THE    CASE 

know  it.  But  I  do  not  think  you  ought 
to  come.  Douglas,  I  do  not  want  you 
to  come." 

"  How  much  difference,"  asked  Ray, 
"do  you  suppose  that  makes  to  me?  I 
told  you  long  ago  how  it  is.  I  told  you 
that  I  purposed  to  guard  you,  to  pro 
tect  you.  I  have  not  changed  my 
mind." 

"Then  go  away!"  cried  Joan  with 
sudden  passion. 

"  I  do  not  intend  to  go  away,"  re 
plied  Ray  quietly.  "  I  do  not  intend  to 
go  away  at  all." 

Now  Joan's  pale  face  scorched  and 
blazed. 

"I  did  not  suppose,"  she  panted, 
"that  I  should  come  to  this  —  that  I 
should  ever  be  insulted --by  you." 

She  got  to  her  feet,  and  confronted 
him  with  a  pitiable  look.  Martin 
167 


THE    MAN    IN    THE    CASE 

Luther  pushed  himself  between  the 
two,  and  began  to  growl  on  a  low 
octave. 

"  Joan,  be  still !  "  said  Ray  sternly. 
"  You  have  not  lost  your  wits.  Don't 
act  as  if  you  had.  If  we  were  not  out 
here  where  I  can't  so  much  as  touch 
the  hem  of  your  rain-coat,  I  should  - 
lassie  !  I  should  crush  that  nonsense 
out  of  you.  I  should  kiss  you  till 
you  -  If  you  don't  stay  where  you 
are,  and  treat  me  properly,  I  don't 
know  but  I  shall  as  it  is.  I  won't  an 
swer  for  myself.  -  Sit  dowrn,  Joan, 
and  hear  me  out.  Sit  down,  dear  — 
please." 

Martin  Luther,  who  had  never  been 
taught  to  charge,  catching  the  too 
familiar  word  "  Down  !  "  crouched, 
with  a  groan  of  protest  and  resentment, 
at  the  Scotchman's  feet.  Joan,  too, 
168 


THE    MAN    IN    THE    CASE 

obeyed.  She  reseated  herself  between 
the  pines,  whose  shaken  needles  drove 
upon  her. 

"  Dogs  or  women,"  she  said  bitterly. 
"  It  seems  we  're  much  the  same.  — 
What  do  you  want  of  me,  Douglas  ? 
What  are  you  here  for  ? " 

"  I  am  here,"  said  Douglas  Ray,  in 
an  uneventful  tone,  "  to  ask  you  to  be 
come  my  wife." 

"  You  have  asked  me  that  before." 

"  I  seek  the  honor  of  your  hand 
again." 

" The  honor  of  my"  Scarlet,  she 
bit  her  sentence  off. 

"  I  repeat,"  said  Ray,  "  I  seek —  I 
urge  the  honor  of  your  hand  in  mar 
riage.  I  propose  that  you  shall  become 
my  wife  at  once.  Let  us  have  no  more 
of  this  misery,  Joan.  Let  us  be  mar 
ried,  and  settle  the  whole  thing  -  -  the 
169 


THE    MAN    IN    THE    CASE 

whole   wretched,    cruel    thing.      It    is 
time  we  did.    I  love  you,  Joan." 

"  In  spite  of- -it?" 

"In  spite  of  //." 

"  Notwithstanding  all  ?  " 

"  Notwithstanding  everything  — any 
thing." 

"  Without   an   explanation  of  what 
people  call  my  conduct?' 

"  I  ask  no  explanations  of  your  con 
duct.    I  only  ask  for  yourself." 

"  Do  you  mean  to  say,"  inquired 
Joan,  brushing  a  lapful  of  pine  needles 
on  Martin  Luther's  head,  "  that  you 
would  assume  the  burden  of  my  - 
perplexities  ?  That  you  would  share 
my  painful  position  ?  After  all  that  has 
happened !  After  all  this  dreadful  year  ! 
That  you  would  trust  me --so  far  as 
that?" 

"  I   would   trust  you,"   replied  Ray 
170 


THE    MAN    IN    THE    CASE 

slowly,  "  further  than  that,  if  I  could. 
I  suppose  a  man  can't  very  well  go 
beyond  it.  I  offer  you  the  service  and 
devotion  of  my  life.  I  urge  you  to  do  me 
the  honor  to  accept  the  shelter  of  my 
name,  what  people  call  the  protection 
of  a  husband's  presence.  I  wish  to 
shield  you  from  everything.  I  ask  you 
to  let  me  share  your  troubles  —  no 
matter  what  they  are  !  " 

"  Even  if  I  could  not  explain  them 
to  you  ?  "  quivered  Joan. 

"  If  you  could  have  explained  them 
to  me,"  returned  Ray  quietly,  "I  know 
that  you  would  have  done  so  long 
ago." 

"  You  would  take  me,  mystery  and 
all?" 

"And  thank  God  for  the  privilege," 
said  Ray  solemnly. 

Joan  wrung  her  thin  hands  together 
171 


THE    MAN    IN    THE    CASE 

where  they  lay  upon  her  gray  dress. 
Martin  Luther  put  his  head  in  the  collie 
fashion  upon  her  knee.  Joan's  tense 
fingers  relaxed,  and  caressed  the  old 
dog  unconsciously. 

Ray  looked  at  the  collie  with  a  sav 
age  envy. 

"  A  man  might  better  be  a  dog,"  he 
said  bitterly. 

"And  yet,"  she  breathed,  "other 
men  offer  women  what  they  call 
love!  .  .  .  I  wish  I  could!  Oh, I  wish 
I  could!  ...  I  cannot,"  she  added. 

"You  can,  because  you  must,"  he 
answered  quickly. 

"  Alas,  I  cannot  because  I  must  not 
...  I  thank  you,  Douglas.  You  do 
love  me.  I  see  that.  I  bless  you  for 
that." 

Then  Douglas  Ray  sternly  repeated 
his  old  phrase:  "The  roots  of  my  love 
172 


THE    MAN    IN    THE    CASE 

have  gone  down  like  a  mountain's. 
Nothing  can  stir  it ;  nothing  that  you  do 
or  say.  You  might  as  well  try  to  over 
throw  Wachusett  with  those  poor,  thin 
little  hands." 

"  I  do  not  deserve  it ! "  cried  Joan 
passionately.  "  I  do  not  believe  there 
are  many  women  who  would.  Men  do 
not  love  like  that.  We  are  not  accus 
tomed  to  it.  We  have  not  been  taught 
to  be  worthy  of  it." 

"  Most  men  have  not  the  honor  of 
loving  you,"  replied  the  Scotchman 
simply.  — "  See  here,  Joan,  I  have 
something  to  show  you." 

With  an  abrupt  motion  he  took  from 
the  pocket  of  his  coat  a  paper,  unfolded 
it,  and  laid  it  upon  her  lap. 

In  one  hurrying  glance  Joan's  startled 
eyes  perceived  the  full  significance  of 
what  he  had  done.  The  paper  was 


THE    MAN    IN    THE    CASE 

signed  by  the  town  clerk  of  Mapleleaf, 
and  contained  the  license  for  the  mar 
riage  of  Douglas  Ray  and  Joan  Dare. 
"  Come,  Joan,"  said  Ray  gravely. 
"Let  us  not  talk  about  it  any  more. 
I  wish  you  to  become  my  wife  at 
once.  To-day  is  just  as  well  as  any  other 
time.  Whatever  it  is  that  distresses  you, 
let  me  share  it.  Whatever  isolates 
you,  let  me  bear  it.  Your  trouble  shall 
be  my  trouble,  and  your  life  my  life, 
-your  home  my  home,  if  that  must 
be.  I  will  ask  no  questions-- I  trust 
you.  I  will  shelter  you  from  every 
thing--!  love  you.  .  .  .  That's  a 
good  man  -  -  your  dominie  —  that  Mr. 
Cotton.  I  have  been  to  talk  with  him. 
He  will  come  right  over  and  marry  us 
now.  He  is  waiting  to  hear  from  me. 
He  will  bring  his  wife.  We  shall  need 
one  more  witness  —  we  will  send  for 
'74 


THE    MAN    IN    THE    CASE 

that  person  down  in  the  hollow  hang 
ing  out  clothes.  Something  about  her 
looks  very  familiar  to  me.  —  Come, 
Joan  !  " 

The  marriage  license  fell  from  Joan's 
lap,  and  Martin  Luther  pounced  upon  it. 
In  a  moment  he  would  have  torn  it  to 
fringe,  but  a  tremendous  grip  throttled 
him,  and  the  dog  dropped  the  paper 
without  a  word.  Martin  Luther,  who 
had  been  without  a  master  too  many 
years,  recognized  the  hand  of  one,  and 
yielded  to  it  with  the  pride  of  a  collie 
in  it. 

"  I  shall  either  kill  that  dog,  or  love 
him,"  said  Ray  through  set  teeth. 

He  secured  the  license  and  returned 
it  to  his  pocket.  His  own  face  had  now 
become  as  rigid  as  the  woman's,  and 
had  been  from  the  first  more  resolute. 

"  Douglas,"  said  Joan  feebly,  "you 
'75 


THE    MAN    IN    THE    CASE 

are  the  best  man  I  ever  knew.  I  wish 
I  could  do  as  you  want  me  to.  I  can 
not — I  cannot  do  it!" 

In  the  position  which  the  two  oc 
cupied  upon  the  rustic  seat  between  the 
pines,  Joan's  observation  commanded, 
as  it  had  done  all  the  time,  the  full 
view  of  the  house;  the  man  sat  with 
his  back  to  it.  He  had  begun  to  plead 
with  her,  more  powerfully  (to  the 
woman)  because  more  passionately  than 
he  had  yet  done,  when  he  stopped  with 
an  abrupt  and  breathless  exclamation. 
Across  Joan's  eyes  had  swiftly  crept  an 
expression  of  something  which  was 
neither  terror  nor  entreaty,  but  a  cu 
rious  interplay  of  both.  He  could  have 
said  that  she  made,  towards  the  house, 
an  all  but  imperceptible  sign.  He 
could  have  sworn  that  her  whole  figure 
and  face  were  significant,  conscious,  one 
176 


THE    MAN    IN    THE    CASE 

might  have  thought  articulate.  Did 
she  raise  an  instinctive  hand  ?  Was  it  a 
gesture  of  command  ?  or  of  supplica 
tion  ?  or  of  anguish  ? 

Then  Douglas  Ray  did  a  noble 
thing.  He  sat  still  as  he  was,  and  did 
not  turn  his  head.  The  collie  had 
sprung  up  and  run  on  towards  the 
house.  But  not  a  muscle  of  the  man 
moved.  His  face  betrayed  no  more 
curiosity  than  the  carpet  of  pine 
needles  beneath  her  feet. 

She  was  on  them  and  on  it  now, 
standing  tall  and  resolute.  He  rose  and 
confronted  her,  still  with  his  back  to 
the  house. 

"  I  must  go  !  "  she  panted,  "  I  must 
go  in  at  once.  Let  me  pass,  Douglas. 
Dear  Douglas,  let  me  go  by  you  ! " 

"What's  that?"  cried  Ray,  wheel 
ing.  "  It  smells  like  -  -  it  sounds  like  a 
177 


THE    MAN    IN    THE    CASE 

bonfire.    It 's  too  windy  a  day.    It  won't 
do-       Where  is  it  ?  " 

"  It 's  just  a  bush,"  said  Joan,  re 
suming  herself,  "  one  of  those^.  dead 
spiraea  bushes  on  the  edge  of  the  gar 
den.  It's  got  afire  somehow.  Don't 
bother  about  it,  Douglas.  It  won't 
amount  to  anything." 

"  I  'm  not  so  sure  of  that,"  replied 
Ray  decidedly.  "  It  's  a  pretty  high 
wind,  and  very  dry.  I  '11  put  it  out. — 
No.  Stay  still,  Joan.  I  can't  have  you 
anywhere  around  fire  with  your  wo 
man's  skirts.  Keep  the  dog  off —  if 
you  can  —  and  stay  just  where  you 
are." 

Ray  hurried  across  the  garden,  and 
she  heard  him  stamping  on  the  little 
blaze  among  the  spiraea  bushes.  These 
were  as  dry  as  excelsior  and  burned 
obstinately. 

178 


THE    MAN    IN    THE    CASE 

The  wind  had  now  in  fact  assumed 
the  proportions  of  a  gale.  The  grove 
began  to  writhe  as  if  it  were  in  fear ; 
the  pines  and  oaks  took  on  the  look 
of  living  creatures  chained  to  the  stake. 
Mined  and  countermined  with  pine 
needles  and  dead  leaves,  consumed  by 
drought,  and  uncleared  for  years,  the 
floor  of  the  grove  presented  a  surface 
parched  for  ignition.  One  narrow  line 
of  flame,  like  a  long  fuse,  ran  from  the 
bush  to  the  underbrush. 

It  did  not  take  Joan  long  to  per 
ceive  that  the  blaze  was  beyond  the 
control  of  one  man,  and  she  pushed 
through  the  now  stifling  smoke. 

"  I  can  help  !  "  she  cried.  "  Between 
us,  we  can  put  it  out." 

"  Keep  your  thin  skirts  out  of  the 
fire  !  "  thundered  Ray. 

At  this  critical  moment  a  woman's 
179 


THE    MAN    IN    THE    CASE 

figure  panted  up  across  the  hollow ; 
Joan  saw  that  its  hands  and  arms  were 
loaded  ;  they  held  a  mop,  two  brooms, 
and  a  snow-shovel. 

"Here  I  be!"  cried  Mary  Caro 
line. 

With  her  big  arms  and  big  hands 
she  fell  mightily  upon  the  burning 
garden.  Mary  Caroline  fought  that 
fire  as  if  she  had  been  cleaning  house 
or  digging  paths.  She  swept  it,  she 
scrubbed  it,  she  mopped  it,  she  beat  it, 
she  shoveled  it.  She  uttered  short, 
sharp  sounds,  neither  language  nor  mu 
sic,  like  those  of  sailors  hurling  anchor 
or  furling  sails.  Martin  Luther  tried 
to  help  her,  vociferating  profanely,  and 
retreated  altogether  like  the  coward 
collie  that  he  was  when  he  burned  his 
tail.  Suddenly  the  dog's  whine  changed 
into  a  violent,  anxious  bark,  and  all  the 
180 


THE    MAN    IN    THE    CASE 

collie  sense  of  responsibility  returned 
proudly  to  him. 

The  smarting  eyes  of  the  three  fire 
fighters  followed  the  motions  of  the 
dog,  who  was  now  dashing  desperately 
from  the  garden  to  the  grove  and  back 
again. 

"  It 's  no  use  !  "  cried  Ray,  running 
hatless  through  the  smoke.  "  It  's  got 
beyond  us  !  We  must  have  help  !  The 
grove  is  on  fire !  ' 

Before  the  words  had  left  his  lips,  a 
small,  sharp  petal  of  flame  looking  like 
"a  crocus  in  the  shade"  sprang  from 
the  dry  grass  within  ten  feet  of  the 
house.  The  fire-fighters  had  no  time  to 
study  the  map  of  the  conflagration,  and 
had  not  followed  the  course  of  a  tiny 
root  of  fire  which  had  been  running 
unnoticed  between  the  spirasa  bush  and 
the  hot,  yellow  blossom  on  the  grass. 
181 


THE    MAN    IN    THE    CASE 

Ray,  scarcely  comprehending  the 
significance  of  this  new  danger,  never 
theless  turned  his  attention  for  a  mo 
ment  to  it,  and  Joan  saw  that  he  was 
trying  to  stamp  out  the  briskly  burning 
grass,  where  the  crocus  of  flame  had 
now  multiplied  into  a  parterre.  She 
saw  that  he  stooped  and  examined  the 
spot,  glanced  about  him,  and  picked 
something  up.  She  was  at  his  side  in  a 
moment. 

"  Give  it  to  me,"  she  commanded. 

"I  will  take  care  of  it,"  said  Ray. 

"  Please  give  it  to  me,"  insisted  Joan. 

Without  a  word  he  put  into  her 
hand  the  stump  of  a  half -burned 
cigar. 

The  wind  had  now  risen  alarmingly, 
and  the  fire  with  it.  It  seemed  to  Joan 
that  she  had  but  looked,  and  the  tap 
estry  of  pine  needles  in  the  grove  was 
182 


THE    MAN    IN    THE    CASE 

ablaze  from  the  garden  to  the  hollow. 
It  seemed  to  her  that  she  but  turned, 
and  the  place  was  alive  with  people. 
The  solitary  woman  felt  the  intrusion 
of  human  life  upon  her  privacy  with  a 
pang  sharper  than  that  of  fear  for  her 
endangered  home. 

Neighbors  were  there  from  the  sur 
rounding  homes,  passers  from  the 
streets;  children  and  men, a  few  women; 
the  police;  and  other  neighbors  still — 
a  phantasmagoria  of  interference  with 
her  isolation  which  filled  her  with  in 
communicable  horror ;  as  if  the  well- 
meaning  people  who  had  thronged  her 
premises  had  been  the  spectres  of 
delirium. 

In  one  of  these  apparitions  she  per 
ceived  the  figure  of  the  Reverend  Eli- 
akim  Cotton,  crimson  to  his  hair,  as  all 
fire-fighters  are.  The  circumstance 
183 


THE    MAN    IN    THE    CASE 

that  his  hair  was  gray  seemed  to 
heighten  the  color  of  his  face.  He 
was  bringing  water  from  somewhere  in 
pails.  His  wife  was  taking  books  out 
from  the  library,  and  Annie  Hammer- 
ton  was  helping  her. 

The  furnace  man  who  said  that 
character  was  more  precious  than  rubies 
was  trying  to  open  the  rusty  piazza 
stop-cock  which  he  had  handled  so 
many  times.  The  junior  deacon  (who 
lived  a  few  doors  down  the  street)  came 
running  around  the  house  with  a  hand 
grenade.  Through  the  asphyxiating 
smoke  Joan  perceived  Mary  Caroline 
helping  the  furnace  man  to  drag  seventy 
feet  of  hose  out  of  the  cellar.  The 
quiet  voice  of  Douglas  Ray,  raised,  but 
perfectly  controlled,  dominated  the 
unorganized  good-will  of  the  thicken 
ing  crowd. 

184 


THE    MAN    IN    THE    CASE 

"  It  can't  be  helped,"  he  said,  "  we 
must  have  the  Department." 

A  small  boy  came  running  around 
the  corner  of  the  house.  As  he  ran  he 
shouted :  — 

"  Here  they  be  !  Here 's  the  chemi 
cal  !  The  ingine  's  comin'.  So  's  the 
hook  and  ladder!" 

Joan  tried  to  cry  out,  "  Douglas ! 
Douglas !  Can't  we  do  without  that  ?  " 
but  before  her  dry  lips  could  frame  the 
words,  the  place  was  swarming  with 
firemen. 

The  grove  was  now  a  lake  of  fire 
whose  waves  had  begun  to  rise  and 
splash.  Ivy  vines  on  dead,  dry  oaks 
curled  and  scorched.  One  could  see 
the  outlines  of  leaves  like  burning  em 
broidery  blaze  and  fall  off.  The  low 
est  boughs  of  the  tallest  pines  began  to 
wince  and  shrivel.  It  was  as  if  the 
185 


THE    MAN    IN    THE    CASE 

trees  threw  up  their  arms  and  cried  for 
mercy.  When  the  power  of  the  water 
fell  upon  them  they  seemed  to  weep 
for  joy.  Joan's  trees  looked  to  her  like 
sentient  beings,  saved  from  or  doomed 
to  a  tragic  death. 

Douglas  Ray  appeared  suddenly  at 
her  side. 

"You  had  better  go  in  now,"  he 
said  quietly.  "  Leave  everything  to 
me.  I  think  the  worst  is  over." 

As  he  spoke  the  words  the  violent 
autumn  gale  abruptly  veered  and  set 
powerfully  towards  the  house.  Sparks 
licked  the  metallic  paint  of  the  shingles 
on  the  roof.  Beautiful,  blazing  effects 
of  leaves  and  twigs  drove  through  the 
air  and  fell.  The  smouldering  trouble 
in  the  grass  flared  up  and  crawled 
under  the  piazza. 

"Look!  Look!  Look!"  cried  a 
186 


THE    MAN    IN    THE    CASE 

voice  from   the   crowd.   "The  roof's 
catching !  " 

The  firemen  made  a  dash  towards 
the  house.  Joan  pushed  in  advance  of 
them ;  Martin  Luther  ran  ahead  of 
her ;  she  went  in  and  shut  the  door. 


CHAPTER   VII 

OUGLAS  RAY  dropped 
the  scorched  broom  with 
which  he  had  been  beat 
ing  grass,  and  ran  into 
the  house  where  Joan 
had  disappeared.  He  entered  as  she 
had  by  the  piazza  ;  this  was  reached 
through  a  vestibule.  He  passed  through 
the  outer  door,  which  he  shut  behind 
him,  as  Joan  had  done,  and  put  his 
hand  not  very  confidently  upon  the 
latch  of  the  inner  door.  It  was  without 
actual  surprise  that  he  found  this  locked. 
He  turned  the  knob  noisily  ;  he 
knocked  loudly ;  he  rang  the  bell  au 
thoritatively.  Martin  Luther's  fierce 
188 


THE    MAN    IN    THE    CASE 

protest  reverberated  through  the  house. 
There  was  no  other  answer. 

"  Joan  !  "  Ray  called.  "  Let  me  in 
this  minute !  " 

Joan  did  not  reply. 

There  were  old-fashioned  side-lights 
at  the  door,  and  he  tried  to  look 
through  them.  But  his  eyes  stung  with 
the  smoke,  which  had  irritated  them 
so  long,  and  which  now  rilled  the  house 
as  well  as  the  grove ;  he  could  see  no 
thing  distinctly.  Without  a  moment's 
hesitation  he  dashed  the  glass  through 
with  his  foot,  put  his  arm  in,  and  drew 
the  bolt.  In  doing  this  he  cut  his  hand. 
When  he  had  thrust  open  the  door, 
and  let  himself  in,  and  locked  the  door 
again  as  Joan  had  left  it,  he  stood  for 
a  moment  in  the  hall,  uncertain.  Joan 
was  nowhere  to  be  seen.  The  house 
choked  with  smoke.  The  firemen's 
189 


THE    MAN    IN    THE    CASE 

orders,  the  shouts  of  the  crowd,  the 
hissing  sound  of  water  on  the  roof, 
the  roar  of  the  fire  in  the  grove,  and 
the  rage  of  the  unappeasable  wind  made 
a  jargon  in  which  he  could  scarcely 
hear  his  own  voice. 

"  Joan  !  "  he  repeated,  "  Joan,  come 
down !  " 

He  went  through  the  long  hall  and 
took  a  step  or  two  up  the  front  stairs. 
"Come  down,"  he  pleaded;  "if  you 
will,  I  won't  come  up." 

But  Joan  remained  silent.  Ray  now 
perceived  what  in  the  excitement  of 
the  moment  he  had  entirely  over 
looked,  that  the  front  door  was  ajar, 
and  some  one  was  in  the  library  —  the 
two  ladies,  Mrs.  Cotton  and  Mrs.  Ham- 
merton,  who,  with  the  passion  of  people 
at  a  fire  to  do  the  wrong  thing,  were 
assiduously  removing  the  books. 
190 


THE    MAN    IN    THE    CASE 

"  I  would  n't  do  that,"  said  Ray.  "  It 
is  not  in  the  least  necessary.  The  house 
is  not  on  fire;  only  a  few  scorched 
shingles  and  a  post  under  the  porch. 
It  will  be  under  control  very  soon. 
Those  books  will  get  wet  and  muddy. 
I  don't  think  Miss  Dare  wishes  them 
disturbed  —  not  yet." 

The  two  women  yielded  readily  to 
the  masterful,  masculine  manner  which 
took  them  in  hand. 

"  Shall  I  bring  back  the  books  that 
we  have  carried  out  ? "  asked  Mrs. 
Cotton. 

"  Oh,  no,"  returned  Ray  quickly. 
"  Let  them  be  till  we  see  what  hap 
pens.  If  you  ladies  feel  inclined  to 
oversee  Mary  Caroline  a  little  —  she 
may  need  advice  at  her  end." 

Smiling,  he  shut  the  door  upon  the 
visitors,  and  locked  it  hard. 
191 


THE    MAN    IN    THE    CASE 

"They  have  gone,  Joan,"  he  called. 
He  ran  halfway  up  the  stairs. 

A  slight  motion  in  the  upper  hall 
replied  to  him,  and  looking  up  through 
the  smoke  he  saw  a  fold  of  Joan's  gray 
gown  blown  around  the  banister  at  the 
top  of  the  stairs.  She  did  not  present 
herself  within  the  range  of  his  eyes. 

"  What  are  you  going  to  do  ? "  he 
asked  quietly. 

"  I  am  going  to  stay." 

"Stay  where?" 

"  Here  -  -  upstairs,  where  I  am.  I 
am  not  going  to  come  down.  You  are 
not  coming  up." 

"  Better  I  than  the  firemen,"  sug 
gested  Ray. 

"  Nobody  is  coming  up." 

"  The  Department  does  n't  take  a 
woman's  '  no  ! '  for  an  answer,  Joan. 
Nor  do  I." 

192 


THE    MAN    IN    THE    CASE 

"  If  you  come  up  any  further,"  said 
Joan  in  a  low,  vibrant  voice,  "  I  shall 
lock  myself  into  the  sewing-room." 

"  If  you  do,  I  shall  break  the  door 
in." 

To  this  Joan  made  no  response. 

"  Come !  "  pleaded  Ray  more  gently. 
"  Tell  me  !  What  is  it  that  you  'want 
to  do  ?  Go  down  with  the  house  ?  or 
suffocate  there  in  this  infernal  smoke  ? " 

"  If  it  comes  to  that,"  replied  Joan. 
"  Yes,  if  I  am  forced  to  that." 

"  She  is  capable  of  it,"  thought  Ray. 
"  She  would  die  game.  But  she  will 
not  tell." 

"Joan,"  he  began  in  a  different  tone, 
"  be  reasonable.  I  will  not  come  up, 
but  you  must  come  down.  The  house 
is  not  going  to  burn —  at  least  I  don't 
think  so.  If  it  does,  I  will  give  you 
plenty  of  notice.  I  have  turned  every- 


THE    MAN    IN    THE    CASE 

body  out  of  this  end,  and  Mary  Caro 
line  is  looking  after  the  other.  I  want 
you  to  come  down  and  speak  to  me." 

Ray  stood  halfway  up  the  stairs,  hat- 
less,  dripping,  muddy,  and  torn.  The 
face  of  the  fire-fighter  was  dull,  pur 
plish  crimson,  as  if  its  shadows  had  been 
painted  from  a  palette  of  blues.  There 
was  blood  upon  his  clothes,  and  on  his 
right  hand.  Joan  stirred  a  step  or  two 
and  saw  him. 

"  Oh  !  "  she  cried.  "  You  are  bleed 
ing  !  You  are  hurt !"  She  melted  down 
the  stairs  and  caught  his  wounded 
hand.  Through  the  smoke  he  saw 
her  lifted  face,  her  yielding  attitude  — 
very  woman  of  very  woman,  as  he  had 
called  her  once. 

Infinite  tenderness  touched  him 
through  her  fingers ;  low,  passionate 

exclamations  formed,  it  seemed,  uncon- 
194 


THE    MAN    IN    THE    CASE 

sciously  to  herself  upon  her  lips.  She 
searched  for  her  handkerchief,  but 
could  not  find  it,  and  so  tore  off  a  ruffle 
from  her  lawn  waist  and  dexterously 
bound  the  wound.  When  she  had  done 
so,  without  a  word  she  laid  her  cheek 
upon  it. 

"Joan,"  said  Ray,  "would  you  marry 
me  now  ? " 

"  Dear  Douglas,  no." 

"  Not  if  the  house  burns  down?" 

"  I  told  you  what  I  should  do  if  the 
house  burns  down." 

"  You  are  too  much  of  a  woman  to 
talk  like  that,"  said  Ray  impatiently. 
"  Every  fireman  in  Mapleleaf  would  be 
in  every  room  in  this  house.  If  they 
did  n't,  I  should.  You  would  be  carried 
out  like  a  sofa  pillow." 

"  But  you  said,"  replied  Joan,  "  that 
the  house  wasn't  going  to  burn  down." 


THE    MAN    IN    THE    CASE 

"  It  is  n't.  .  .  .  Now  will  you  marry 
me?" 

But  Joan  shook  her  heavy  head. 

At  this  moment  a  fireman  on  the 
piazza  roof  called  to  some  one  be 
low:  — 

"  Guess  we  've  got  to  the  end  of 
this  !  Anyways,  if  everything  's  right 
inside." 

"Joan,"  said  Ray  abruptly,  "let  me 
pass,  please.  I  must  get  up  into  the 
second  story  and  examine  that  roof.  If 
I  don't,  somebody  else  will." 

"  I  cannot  allow  it !  "  cried  Joan. 

"  I  don't  ask  you  to,"  replied  Ray 
quietly.  Gently  putting  aside  her  de 
terring  hands,  he  passed  her  and  ran  up 
into  the  attic.  He  was  gone  but  a  few 
minutes,  and,  glancing  neither  to  the 
right  nor  to  the  left,  he  ran  quickly 
196 


(Copyright  1»<3  by  the  Curtis  H,il,li»hi,,.i  Compl 

SHE  DEXTKROUSLY  BOL'NI)  THE  WOUND 


THE    MAN    IN    THE    CASE 

down  again ;  he  passed  the  closed  doors 
of  Joan's  house  as  if  the  sword  of 
Paradise  and  exile  had  whirled  before 
them. 

"  There !  "  he  said.    "  That 's  done/' 

A  glint  of  admiration  like  the  gold 

spark  in  the  heart  of  a  brown  pansy 

burned  in  Joan's  soft  eyes.    She  did  not 

speak. 

The  smoking  grove  was  writhing 
still,  for  the  wind  had  not  gone  down. 
But  the  lake  of  fire  at  the  foot  of  the 
trees  had  become  a  pond  of  muddy 
water.  Burning  embroidery  of  leaves 
and  vines  had  ceased  to  fall,  tattered 
and  glittering,  through  the  air.  The 
oaks  held  up  black,  dripping  arms,  and 
the  fingers  of  the  pines  were  drenched. 
The  spiraea  that  had  wrought  the  mis 
chief  was  drowned  and  broken  in  every 
197 


THE    MAN    IN    THE    CASE 

slender  bone ;  the  salvia  and  the  nas 
turtiums  were  trampled  into  mud.  The 
sparks  had  now  scattered  like  a  flock 
of  bright  birds  driven  to  flight.  The 
little  blaze  under  the  piazza  was  out. 
Plenty  of  shingles  were  burned,  but  the 
soaked  roof  had  ceased  to  smoke.  The 
drenched  house  was  saved. 

At  the  kitchen  door  Mary  Caroline, 
sleeves  rolled  to  her  broad  shoulders, 
soot  and  water  and  mud  splashed  upon 
her  white  apron,  her  high  cheek  bones 
Indian  red,  her  honest  eyes  dark  with 
excitement,  stood  dispensing  hospitality 
and  defying  entrance  to  the  crowd. 

"The  lemonade  to  the  firemen  first," 
said  Mary  Caroline,  "  and  the  boys  can 
have  what  's  left  over.  I  guess  there  's 
enough  for  the  whole  o'  yer.  If  I  'd 
expected  such  a  party,  I  'd  a'  beat  up  a 
cake  and  had  sandwiches.  But  you  see 
198 


THE    MAN    IN    THE    CASE 

it 's  a  surprise  party  and  I  warn't  ready. 
There  's  ladies  here  to  help  me,"  ob 
served  Mary  Caroline,  importantly. 
"  They  're  makin'  coffee.  Miss  Dare 
says  for  the  firemen  to  cool  off  on  the 
lemonade  first.  She  is  much  obleeged 
to  you,  gentlemen,  very  much  indeed, 
and  so  be  I." 

One  of  the  firemen  came  up  and 
took  the  pail  of  lemonade.  He  saluted 
respectfully  as  he  said,  "  We  was  n't 
expecting  to  see  you  here,  Miss.  Folks 
said  you  got  through  some  time  ago." 

"They  did,  did  they?"  cried  Mary 
Caroline  scornfully.  "  Well,  you  just 
tell  'em  here  I  be." 

The  Chief  of  the  Fire  Department 
of  Mapleleaf  came  around  like  a  caller 
to  the  front  door,  and  lifted  the  fate 

with  the  bit  in  its  mouth  to  knock. 

199 


THE    MAN    IN    THE    CASE 

He  was  surprised  to  find  that  the 
door  was  locked  ;  that  which  opened 
on  the  piazza  he  had  already  tried ;  the 
windows  were  fast ;  he  had  found  it  a 
species  of  discourtesy  to  force  his  way 
by  Mary  Caroline  after  accepting  her 
lemonade  and  coffee.  The  Chief  felt 
that  his  official  prerogative  was  not 
recognized,  and  when  Douglas  Ray, 
with  Martin  Luther  roaring  behind 
him,  opened  the  front  door,  the  man 
pushed  in  officiously. 

"The  fire  is  over,"  quickly  said  Ray. 

"  The  fire  is  over  to  all  appearance," 
replied  the  Chief,  "but  I  prefer  to 
make  quite  sure  of  it.  I  should  like  to 
see  the  inside  of  the  house." 

"I  have  already  done  that,"  answered 

Douglas    Ray,  with  a  pleasant  smile. 

"I   have  examined  the  house  myself. 

I  am  confident  that  there  is  n't  a  spark 

200 


THE    MAN    IN    THE    CASE 

left  in  it.  You  will  excuse  me,  but 
Miss  Dare  is  very  tired  with  all  this, 
and  I  should  like  to  keep  the  premises 
as  quiet  as  I  can  for  her. 

"  I  have  assumed  the  responsibilities 
of  the  occasion,"  added  Ray  deliber 
ately  and  distinctly,  "as  the  lady  is  to 
become  my  wife." 

The  Chief  touched  his  helmet  and 
withdrew.  Ray  shut  the  door  again, 
and  turned  about  with  his  Scotch  ex 
pression. 

"  Oh,  what  did  you  say  that  for  ? ' 
cried  Joan  from  the  upper  landing. 

"  Because  it 's  true,"  replied  Douglas 
Ray. 

"It  will  be  —  why,  it  will  be  all 
over  town  by  night !  " 

"I  meant  it  should  be." 

"  But  everybody  will  hear  it !  Every 
body  will  know  it!  ' 

201 


THE    MAN    IN    THE    CASE 

"  I  hope  everybody  will." 

"It  will  make  everything  worse!  ' 
urged  Joan. 

"  It  will  make  everything  better," 
urged  Ray. 

The  two  fire-fighters  regarded  each 
other  like  duelists  across  the  height 
and  width  of  the  stairs.  Smoked  and 
torn  and  crimson,  the  woman  looked 
down.  Muddy  and  black  and  bleeding, 
the  man  looked  up. 

"  I  shall  never  see  her  look  less  at 
tractive,"  he  thought;  his  heart  leaped 
because  he  loved  her  so  much  when 
she  was  not  beautiful. 

"  He  looks  as  if  he  had  been  in  a 
battle,"  thought  Joan.  But  she  knew 
that  she  loved  him  the  more  for  that. 

"The  crowd  is  breaking  up,"  said 
Ray  hastily.   "  The  chemical  has  gone  ; 
the  rest  are  going.   I  hear  Mrs.  Cotton 
202 


THE    MAN    IN    THE    CASE 

and  Mrs.  Hammerton  in  the  dining- 
room.  Mary  Caroline  can't  keep  them 
back  any  longer.  You'd  better  be  on 
hand,  Joan." 

Joan  came  down  the  stairs,  and  went 
to  meet  her  old  friends.  She  was  now 
quite  self-possessed. 


CHAPTER   VIII 


HE  winter  set  in  bitterly. 
It  was  colder  than  the 
last,  and  Joan,  in  her  sol 
itary  home,  found  the 
practical  perplexities  of 
daily  life  more  rather  than  less  severe. 
There  was  a  great  deal  of  snow,  and 
Mapleleaf  took  her  share  of  it.  The 
avenue  was  often  closed,  and  the 
scorched  grove  stood  knee-deep  in  blue- 
white  drifts,  or  glittered  to  the  brows 
with  chain  armor  of  gray-white  ice. 
From  the  unaccepted  street  to  Miss 
Dare's  house,  a  steady  foot-path  ran 
across  the  hollow  the  winter  long.  No 
blizzard  blockaded  Mary  Caroline. 
She  waded  through  seas  of  slush  and 
204 


THE    MAN    IN    TtfE    CASE 

water  as  merrily  as  if  she  had  been 
mopping  a  kitchen  floor.  Mary  Caro 
line  wore  rubber  boots,  and  the  golf- 
cape  whose  pointed  hood  rose  like  a 
Gothic  arch  from  head  bent  to  wind 
or  storm.  Her  strong  figure  had  the 
rude  picturesqueness  of  a  Millet  pea 
sant  contending  with  a  climate  that 
Millet  never  knew. 

Often,  in  the  freezing  dawn,  Joan 
would  hear  the  chug  !  of  a  snow-shovel 
underneath  her  window,  and  looking 
out,  would  surprise  the  strong  figure 
of  her  old  woman-servant  manfully  dig 
ging  out  paths. 

One  morning  she  opened  the  window 
and  said:  — 

"Mary  Caroline,  this  must  stop.  It 
is  not  fit  work  for  you.  I  cannot  have 
it." 

"Well,  I  supposed  you'd  say  so," 
205 


THE    MAN    IN    THE    CASE 

answered  Mary  Caroline,  resting  on  her 
wooden  shovel.  "  I  've  engaged  a  man 
to  do  it." 

She  mentioned  the  name  of  the  fur 
nace  man  whose  family  had  always  had 
character. 

"  I  Ve  give  him  the  paths  an'  ash 
barrels,"  proceeded  Mary  Caroline 
calmly.  "  I  have  swore  him  not  to 
come  into  the  house.  I  told  him  you 
was  a-trainin'  some  pet  alligators  you  'd 
had  sent  you  from  Floridy  an'  you  was 
afraid  they  'd  bite  somebody." 

"He  believed  you,  of  course!  "  re 
plied  Miss  Dare  bitterly. 

"  Land !  "said  Mary  Caroline.  "He'd 
believe  anything  I  told  him.  He  's 
ben  some  considerable  sweet  on  me  for 
quite  a  spell." 

With  thesealleviations  of  her  lot,  Joan 

206 


THE    MAN    IN    THE    CASE 

continued  her  solitary  and  inexplicable 
life.  The  village  had  now  accepted  the 
mystery  if  not  the  pathos  of  it,  and  the 
definite  disapproval  of  her  fellow  towns 
men  had  ceased  to  express  itself  to  her. 

This  fact,  of  course,  in  no  wise  im 
peded  the  current  of  public  criticism. 
Like  a  subterranean  river  it  ran  on 
beneath  her. 

Chance  words  and  petty  incidents, 
dropped  into  the  vortex,  went  whirling 
like  garbage  down  that  invisible  stream. 
People  discussed  her  life  in  all  its  known 
and  unknown  particulars.  The  village 
mystery  which  had  now  become  com 
mon  property  was  put  to  a  painful  ex 
ercise.  The  family  history  was  recalled. 
Its  details  were  torn  from  the  merciful 
silence  of  many  years.  The  bereave 
ments,  the  cares,  the  tragedies  which 
had  befallen  the  household  of  Josiah 
207 


THE    MAN    IN    THE    CASE 

Dare,  long  half-forgotten,  were  now 
remembered.  It  was  recollected  that 
the  family  had  moved  out  of  the  state 
for  a  time,  and  that  Joan  Dare  had  lived 
for  at  least  three  years  during  her  first 
youth  in  some  distant  city  —  Chicago 
or  New  York. 

Around  this  circumstance  the  gossip 
of  the  neighborhood  concentrated.  It 
was  felt  that  anybody  who  could  absent 
herself  from  Mapleleaf  for  a  matter  of 
years,  might,  in  the  nature  of  things,  be 
capable  of  an  extraordinary  personal 
record.  It  was  understood  that  in  Chi 
cago  or  New  York  the  standards  of  life 
were  unfortunately  not  always  identical 
with  those  of  the  church  and  society 
of  Mapleleaf.  In  these  remote  and 
abandoned  places  plainly  anything 
might  occur. 

Who  knew  what  had  happened,  in 
208 


THE    MAN    IN    THE    CASE 

her  regrettable  absence  from  the  most 
desirable  suburb  in  the  world,  to  the 
daughter  of  Josiah  Dare  ?  The  eccen 
tricities  of  the  family  were  exhumed; 
their  misfortunes  were  recalled  with  a 
shake  of  the  head  or  a  droop  of  the 
eyelid.  Who  could  say  that  there  was 
not  an  unhappy  tendency  in  the  blood  ? 
It  might  take  this  form  ;  it  might 
choose  that.  Really,  now  that  one 
came  to  consider  it,  who  knew  what 
dark  scenes  might  have  passed  over  the 
stage  of  Joan  Dare's  once  troubled  ex 
perience  ? 

The  architect,  when  these  scandals 
reached  him,  set  his  teeth,  but  said  no 
word.  What  could  he  do  ?  What  might 
he  say?  Any  step  that  he  took  in  her 
direction,  every  excuse  that  he  offered 
for  her  sake,  might  drag  her  deeper 
into  the  underground  river  of  the  com- 
209 


THE    MAN    IN    THE    CASE 

mon  talk.  He  was  in  the  position,  of 
all  most  intolerable  to  a  lover,  when  a 
man  cannot  shield  a  woman  without 
multiplying  the  very  pangs  from  which 
he  would  protect  her. 

After  the  fire  they  had  resumed  their 
old  relations.  His  masculine  persistence 
had  not  dominated  her  in  the  least. 
She  had  not  conceded  by  the  flutter  of 
an  eyelash  to  his  entreaties.  In  fact, 
he  thought  she  distanced  him  more 
successfully  than  ever.  She  had  reen- 
tered  the  desolation  of  her  life,  and  be 
yond  the  boundaries  of  that  desert  he 
stood  and  watched  her  with  a  helpless 
-it  was  in  fact  becoming  a  hopeless 
-misery.  He  had  reached  the  pass 
where  he  acknowledged  to  himself 
that  he  could  do  absolutely  nothing 
for  her. 

The    spring    was    like    the   winter, 

210 


THE    MAN    IN    THE    CASE 

and  the  summer  as  the  spring.  The 
Scotchman  bided  his  time  patiently. 
When  Joan  consented  to  see  him  his 
heart  lifted.  When  she  rebuffed  him  it 
stood  still,  but  did  not  fall.  He  bore 
with  her  distance,  her  dejection,  and 
always  with  the  perplexing  nature  of 
her  position,  with  a  gentleness  such  as 
most  men  despise,  and  only  a  few 
women  possess. 

He  had  ceased  to  make  any  attempt 
to  visit  her  in  the  evening  —  a  circum 
stance  to  which  neither  alluded  —  but 
had  fallen  into  the  way  of  trying  to  ob 
tain  a  few  words  with  her  on  Saturday 
afternoons.  Sometimes  he  succeeded  ; 
then  for  weeks  he  was  not  admitted. 
As  the  summer  advanced  she  refused 
more  and  more  often  to  see  him  and, 
in  fact,  it  was  noticed  by  the  neighbors 
that  she  was  less  and  less  to  be  met 

21  I 


THE    MAN    IN    THE    CASE 

about  the  streets  of  Mapleleaf.  This 
was  perhaps  partly  to  be  explained  by 
the  fact  that  a  telephone,  at  that  time 
a  novelty  in  the  village,  had  been  in 
stalled  in  her  house,  and  carried  her 
necessary  communications  to  the  trades 
people  of  the  town.  Shortly  after  this 
was  done,  Ray  caused  an  instrument 
to  be  set  up  in  his  own  chambers.  He 
took  occasion  to  let  her  know  that  he 
had  done  so,  but  did  not  intrude  upon 
her  seclusion  with  the  use  of  the 
wire. 

"She  would  take  the  receiver  off," 
he  thought,  "  as  soon  as  she  found  out 
that  she  could." 

By  July,  Joan  had  ceased  to  admit 
Ray  to  the  house  at  all,  and  only  the 
woman-servant  ever  saw  her.  In  Au 
gust  Mary  Caroline  was  denied  this 
precious  privilege.  One  day  Miss  Dare 

212 


THE    MAN    IN    THE    CASE 

had  spoken  to  her  from  the  window 
and  gently  said  :  - 

"  I  will  send  for  you,  Mary  Caroline, 
when  I  want  you  next." 

It  had  been  a  hot  summer,  and  the 
fires  of  the  south  wind  burned  into 
September  —  the  month  of  physical 
weakness  and  stealthy  disorders  —  the 
month  when  typhoid,  and  tuberculo 
sis,  and  malaria  have  the  upper  hand 
in  their  eternal  wrestle  with  human 
life. 

One  warm,  weak  morning,  at  the 
first  stir  of  the  dawn,  Joan  came  down 
stairs.  She  was  fully  though  hastily 
dressed,  but  whether  by  accident  or  in 
tent  had  avoided  her  customary  gray 
habit.  Her  face  had  a  startling  white 
ness,  and  seemed  to  be  a  part  of  her 
long  cream-white  woolen  gown,  as  if 
both  had  been  carved  from  the  same 
213 


THE    MAN    IN    THE    CASE 

piece  of  Carrara.  She  went  directly  to 
the  laundry,  thrust  up  the  shade,  and 
flung  open  the  window.  Across  the 
sill  she  hung  the  kitchen  tablecloth, 
shut  the  window  down  upon  it,  and 
left  the  red  signal  flaring  against  the 
house.  She  seemed  not  to  know  what 
to  do  next,  and  sat  down  in  the 
kitchen  confusedly. 

The  collie  was  asleep  in  the  cellar, 
and  she  was  alone  in  the  house,  whose 
unnatural  silence  appeared  to  terrify 
her.  Suddenly  she  grew  a  little  faint 
or  sick,  and  her  face  fell  into  her  hands 
upon  the  kitchen  table. 

The  key  snapped  in  the  lock,  and  re 
sounding  steps  struck  the  floor.  Two 
strong  arms  inclosed  her,  and  she  found 
her  heavy  head  upon  a  woman's  bosom. 

"  Here  I  be,"  said  Mary  Caroline. 
"  I  run  all  the  way.  What  is  it,  dearie  ? 
214 


THE    MAN    IN    THE    CASE 

Oh,  what  is  it,  dearie  ?  Ain't  yer 
goin'  to  tell  Mary  Caroline?" 

"  Yes,"  said  Joan,  in  a  thrilling 
voice,  "  I  am  going  to  tell  you,  Mary 
Caroline,  —  you  first ;  you  before 
everybody,  you  before  anybody  in  the 
world."  As  if  she  feared  that  the  deaf 
house  should  hear,  or  the  sleeping 
world  might  listen,  she  whispered  a 
few  broken  sentences  into  Mary  Caro 
line's  smitten  ear. 

Across  the  old  servant's  face  horror, 
incredulity,  pity,  and  a  passion  of  ador 
ing  love  raced  with  sheer  mental  ina 
bility  to  overtake  the  meaning  of  the 
language  which  she  had  heard. 

"It's  ompossible!"  she  cried,  "you're 
starin'  crazy.  I  'd  orter  had  one  of 
them  nervous  doctors  to  you  two  years 
ago." 

"Go  up,"  pleaded  Miss  Dare,  "go 
215 


THE    MAN    IN    THE    CASE 

upstairs  and  see  for  yourself-  - 1  don't 
know --perhaps  you  can  tell  me  what 
to  do.  It  is  three  nights  since  I  've 

slept.  I  can't  think  as  I  ought  to. 
j  " 

"  The  Lord  o'  miseries  and  miracles 
have  mercy  on  ye ! "  moaned  Mary 
Caroline,  "ye  pore  creetur !  Ye  pore 
misfortinit,  sufferin'  creetur!  Oh, 
my  dear,  my  dear !  " 

"Do  not  wait,  Mary  Caroline," 
entreated  Joan.  "  Go  up  —  please. 
You  're  not  afraid,  are  you  ?  I  think 
perhaps  I  am." 

"  You  come  along  of  me,"  com 
manded  Mary  Caroline  slowly.  "  You 
lay  down  on  the  sofy  and  lemme  cover 
you.  See,  here  's  brandy.  Ye  've  kep' 
it  on  the  second  shelf  same  's  as  I  did, 
hain't  ye?  There!  Soon 's  ye  drawr  a 
breath,  I  '11  go.  I  won't  go  a  step  be- 
216 


THE    MAN    IN    THE    CASE 

fore  -  There,  my  lamb,  there,  my 
lamb!  Here  I  be!" 

Joan,  on  the  library  lounge,  lay  quite 
still.  She  felt  a  storm  of  tears  upon  her 
fainting  face.  A  big  and  brooding  fig 
ure  knelt  beside  her.  Kisses  covered 
her  thin  hands.  She  heard  broken 
phrases — "  Lambs  !  "  and  "  Dearies  !  " 
and  "Pore  creeturs!" —  crushed  be 
tween  great  sobs. 

Then  Mary  Caroline  heavily  went 
upstairs.  The  fall  of  her  slow  feet  re 
verberated  through  the  empty  house, 
crossed  the  upper  hall,  entered  a  closed 
room,  and  paused. 

When  Mary  Caroline  came  down 
(she  had  been  gone  some  little  time) 
she  found  Miss  Dare  standing  at  the 
telephone  in  the  hall.  She  was  speak 
ing  rapidly  and  clearly.  Mary  Caro- 
217 


THE    MAN    IN    THE    CASE 

line's  awed  face  leaned  over  the  banis 
ter. 

"Is  Mr.  Ray  in?" 
•          •          .          .          •          •          • 

"Are  you  Mr.  Ray?" 

"  Douglas,  is  that  you  ?  This  is  Joan 
Dare." 

"  Douglas,  will  you  come  over  ?  At 
once,  if  you  please.  I  need  help  — 
Yes,  I  need  you." 

•  •*•••• 

When  Ray  got  there,  she  was  quite 
composed.  Their  eyes  met — his  with 
a  cruel  anxiety,  hers  with  a  solemn 
light. 

"  Come,"  she  said. 

She  extended  her  hand ;  he  took  it ; 
and  without  any  other  word  she  led 
him  up  the  stairs. 

218   - 


THE    MAN    IN    THE    CASE 

They  crossed  the  front  hall,  still  si 
lently,  and  Joan  led  him  to  a  closed 
room  on  the  rear  of  the  house.  At  the 
door  she  paused. 

"Don't  be  startled,"  she  said.  "It 's 
the  least  of  human  miseries.  It  is 
only  Death." 

She  had  a  strange,  remote  smile.  He 
tried  to  read  it,  but  felt  that  he  could 
not,  as  she  drew  him  on. 

"Shall  I  open  the  door?"  he  asked, 
for  he  saw  that  she  shrank  on  the 
threshold. 

"  If  you  would !  "  She  shuddered. 
There  was  a  key  in  the  outside  of 
the  lock.  He  turned  it,  and  they  en 
tered  the  room  together,  still  hand  in 
hand. 

The  room  was  small,  but  it  had  two 
windows;  these  were  open,  and  the 
blinds  were  closed.  The  broadening 
219 


THE    MAN    IN    THE    CASE 

day  was  barred  from  the  darkened  spot, 
and  they  could  at  first  see  nothing  dis 
tinctly  except  the  position  of  the  bed. 
This  was  drawn  out  between  the  win 
dows  as  if  to  secure  for  it  a  current  of 
air.  A  body,  plainly  by  its  height  that 
of  a  man,  lay  upon  this  bed.  It  was 
covered  with  a  sheet  and  light  coun 
terpane.  Mary  Caroline,  it  seemed, 
had  performed  the  last  offices,  and 
everything  was  decent  and  orderly 
about  the  dead  and  in  the  room.  Joan 
stepped  to  the  bedside,  and  uncovered 
the  face.  She  and  Ray  had  remained 
hand  in  hand,  but  now  his  fingers  un 
clasped  slowly,  and  hers  slid  from  them. 
"Who  is  this  man?"  he  demanded. 
The  words  stirred  slowly  from  his 
white  lips ;  they  had  the  sluggish  move 
ment  of  a  glacier  beginning  to  form 
and  stiffen. 

220 


THE    MAN    IN    THE    CASE 

"I  suppose,"  he  said,  "it  is  your 
husband." 

Joan,  when  he  let  go  her  hand,  had 
hidden  her  face  with  it. 

"  You  ought  to  have  told  me,"  said 
Douglas  Ray. 


CHAPTER   IX 


O,"  said  Joan,  "  I  have  no 
husband." 

"And  never  had?"  de 
manded  Ray  sternly.  His 
manner  was  the  more 
dreadful  because  it  superseded  a  sacred 
tenderness  in  which  a  woman  might 
have  perished  because  she  died  of 
joy. 

"Nor  ever  had,"  repeated  Joan. 
For  the  width  of  an  instant,  far  in 
the  Scotchman's  eyes  there  arose  the 
altar  of  an  anguish  so  solemn  that  his 
whole  being  seemed  to  be  flung,  a  sac 
rifice  consumed,  upon  it. 

Joan  uttered  an  inarticulate  sound. 
222 


THE    MAN    IN    THE    CASE 

"  Douglas !  Douglas  ! >:  she  cried. 
"  Don't  you  see  ?  Don't  you  know  ? 
Have  you  never  suspected — all  the 
while?" 

"  I  see  nothing.  I  know  nothing. 
How  could  I  suspect  —  you?"  he  an 
swered  drearily.  He  replaced  the  sheet 
over  the  dead  man's  face  and  turned 
away. 

"  I  have  trusted  you,  Joan,"  he  said. 

"  When  no  other  man  would !"  Joan 
lifted  her  head.  "  No  other  that  I  ever 
knew — I  have  been  so  proud  of  you !  — 
Oh,  I  have  gone  on  the  knees  of  my 
heart  to  worship  you,  Douglas  Ray  ! 
And  now,  just  because  it  is  so  hard  to 
speak  —  because  I  have  got  to  feeling 
for  so  long  that  I  cant  speak — Douglas ! 
Why,  Douglas ! " 

With  incredible  difficulty,  as  if  the 
power  to  enunciate  them  had  been  torn 
223 


THE    MAN    IN    THE    CASE 

out   of  her   throat   and   mouth,   Joan 
uttered  four  half-strangled  words. 

"  But  I  thought  you  had  no  brother, 
except  that  one,  —  you  told  me  there 
was  only  one  !  " 

"There  was  only  one." 

"And  he  is  dead,"  argued  Ray  dog 
matically. 

"  Yes,"  said  Joan,  "  he  is  dead.  He 
died  this  morning  in  my  arms.  There 
he  lies." 

She  pointed  to  the  long  figure  on  the 
bed  —  her  knees  gave  way  beneath  her 
like  broken  hinges,  and  she  slid  down 
slowly  to  the  floor.  Before  Ray  could 
stoop  to  gather  her  she  had  laid  her 
lips  upon  his  foot. 

"  You  trusted  me !  You  trusted  me ! ' ' 
she  sobbed. 

"Oh,  come!"  cried  Douglas  Ray, 
224 


THE    MAN    IN    THE    CASE 

"  I  can't  have  that.  Change  places  with 
me,  Joan." 

He  stooped  and  lifted  her  to  her  feet, 
and  would  have  knelt  before  her,  but 
she  could  not  stand  upon  them.  So  he 
took  her  in  his  arms  instead. 

"We  will  get  out  of  this  room,"  he 
urged,  "  and  then  you  shall  tell  me  all 
about  it." 

He  lifted  her  as  if  she  had  been  a 
woman  figure  escaping  him  or  clinging 
to  him  in  a  beautiful,  stormy  dream, 
and  carried  her  into  the  hall.  There 
they  found  Mary  Caroline,  herself 
white  to  her  Indian  cheek  bones. 

"  It 's  him  ! "  she  cried ;  "  it 's  him, 
himself.  It 's  Harum  Dare.  I  've  give 
him  cookies  and  sponged  his  close  too 
many  times  not  to  know  him,  Mr.  Ray. 
It 's  Harum  Scarum,  no  mistake.  He  's 
changed  something  dreadful ;  but  then," 
225 


THE    MAN    IN    THE    CASE 

added  Mary  Caroline  grimly,  "  so  has 
she." 

"  Go  down,  Mary  Caroline,"  com 
manded  Ray,  "and  telephone  for  the 
medical  examiner  ;  or,  no  —  stay.  You 
need  not,  on  the  whole.  I  will  do  it 
myself.  I  must  have  the  full  facts, 
Joan,  before  he  gets  here." 

"  There  's  a  lounge  over  at  that  there 
window,"  suggested  Mary  Caroline 
anxiously;  "it'  s  Martin  Luther's,  most 
gener'lly  speakin',  but  she's  pretty  con- 
sid'ble  heft  for  you  to  take  downstairs, 
and  I  ain't  er  goin'  ter  have  her  walkin' 
'round  till  I  've  give  her  some  breakfast. 
She  ain't  slep'  enough  to  keep  the  life 
in  the  wings  of  a  broodin'  bird.  She  's 
been  a  misfortunit,  disluded  creetur  too 
long,  Mr.  Ray,  and  don't  you  forget  it. 
Now  she  's  clean  gin  out." 

Obediently  Ray  did  as  the  old  ser- 
226 


THE    MAN    IN    THE    CASE 

vant  directed.  Suddenly  Mary  Caroline 
seemed  to  have  taken  command  of  the 
whole  situation,  and  the  governing  class 
deferred  to  her  as  a  matter  of  course. 
Ray  put  Joan  on  the  lounge,  by  the 
hall  window,  and  sat  down  beside  her. 
It  was  a  cretonne-covered  lounge,  white, 
with  large  roses.  He  fastened  his  eyes 
upon  one  of  the  roses,  a  crimson  one, 
which  peered  above  the  shoulder  of 
Joan's  white  dress.  While  she  was  try 
ing  to  speak,  he  did  not  watch  her  face, 
but  he  took  her  thin  hand  and  held  it 
strongly. 

"Have  you  never  heard,"  began 
Joan,  without  looking  at  him,  — 
"  about  it?" 

"  People  don't  gossip  to  me,"  replied 

Ray  scornfully.    "  I   knew  there  was  a 

tragedy  of  some  sort.   I  never  heard  its 

details;  I  never  wanted  to.    Everybody 

227 


THE    MAN    IN    THE    CASE 

believed  that  the  boy  was  dead,  and  so 
did  I.  And  so  "— 

"  And  so  did  I,"  repeated  Joan.  "  I 
believed  as  everybody  believed  till  — 
that  night " 

"Go  on,"  said  Ray. 

For  she  had  paused  in  pitiable  agi 
tation. 

"  He  killed  a  man,"  she  said  with 
sharp  distinctness.  "  He  was  tried,  and 
convicted,  and  condemned.  He  would 
have  been  —  they  would  have  hung 
him.  It  was  in  New  York.  He  was 
in  Sing  Sing.  They  took  out  bricks 
and  dug  their  way  out  —  you  know 
how  prisoners  do.  There  were  two  of 
them,  and  the  other  was  what  people 
call  a  gentleman  too.  I  think  he  mur 
dered  a  woman,  and  he  meant  to  do  it. 
It  was  different  with  Harum.  He  did 
n't  mean  to  do  any  harm,"  she  urged 
228 


THE    MAN    IN    THE    CASE 

earnestly.  "He  had  been  drinking.  It 
was  a  quarrel,  and  it — it  happened. 
Harum  was  a  kind  boy,  Douglas.  He 
was  always  bringing  home  starved  kit 
tens,  and  tormented  dogs.  I  have  seen 
him  go  out  of  his  way  rather  than  step 
on  a  spider  or  some  little  crawling 
thing  that  anybody  else  would  crush. 
He  was  a  dear  fellow.  I  loved  my  little 
brother.'* 

Ray  lifted  the  hand  which  he  held, 
and  laid  his  cheek  upon  it.  He  did  not 
speak.  Joan's  faltering  voice  went  on  : 

"So  they  dug  their  way  out  of  the 
prison,  as  I  tell  you" — 

"Yes,  I  read  of  such  a  case  last 
week,"  interrupted  Ray. 

"And  they  got  to  the  water,  and 
they  were  chased,  and  they  jumped  in. 
One  swam  away — it  was  dark,  and  he 

escaped — but  one  was  drowned.    It  was 
229 


THE    MAN    IN    THE    CASE 

three  weeks  before  they  found  the  body, 
and  they  said,  —  and  they  thought  — 
everybody  thought  —  they  were  sure 
-it  was  Harum  that  they  found,  and 
there  was  a  lead  pencil  in  his  pocket 
with  the  name  carved  on  it  with  a  jack- 
knife —  'H.  S.  Dare.'  And  there  were 
some  other  reasons,  but  I  forget  them 
all.  So  Father  took  him  and  buried 
him,  for  he  was  allowed  to  do  it.  That 
was  up  in  the  country,  in  New  York, 
in  grandmother  Scairn's  old  lot,  and 
everybody  knew  that  he  was  dead.  He 
had  been  dead  for  eleven  years,  when 
he- 

"So  we  came  back  here  to  live,  and 
then  Father  and  Mother  died,  and  there 
was  only  Mary  Caroline  and  I  and 
Martin  Luther.  I  was  beginning  to 
learn  how  to  bear  it  "  -  Joan's  voice 
wavered,  "I  was  beginning  to  think  I 
230 


THE    MAN    IN    THE    CASE 

might  be  happy  like  other  women, 
afterall.  I  had  begun  to  love --you.  I 
had  said  I  would  be  your  wife." 

"  You  will  be,"  interrupted  the 
Scotchman,  "before  you  are  many 
hours  older." 

Joan  allowed  herself  the  symbol  of 
a  smile  as  she  made  a  little  gesture  of 
disagreement ;  it  was  as  if  she  had  re 
jected  him  so  long  that  her  denial  went 
on  automatically ;  her  heart  seemed  to 
have  stiffened,  as  a  muscle  does  that  has 
been  clenched  too  hard  and  steadily ; 
she  shook  her  head;  her  cheek  turned 
against  the  crimson  cretonne  rose  that 
expressed  her  pallor.  She  seemed  now, 
Ray  thought,  as  anxious  as  she  had  been 
at  first  reluctant  to  go  on  talking.  She 
had  begun  afresh,  when  cantering  foot 
falls  pounded  up  the  stairs,  and  Martin 

Luther  leaped  and  laid  his  head,  in  the 
231 


THE    MAN    IN    THE    CASE 

collie  fashion,  upon  her  lap.  Joan's 
wasted  fingers  fell  upon  the  dog's 
ears. 

"He's  stood  by  me,"  she  said  pa 
thetically.  Ray  watched  her  slowly 
caressing  hand. 

"Such  tenderness!"  he  thought, 
"  such  tenderness !  Most  women  don't 
know  how  to  spell  a  syllable  of  it.  She 
could  put  them  all  in  the  primer  class 
and  teach  them --if  they  had  enough 
of  it  to  let  her." 

But  Martin  Luther  was  followed  by 
Mary  Caroline  with  coffee  which  she 
put  to  Miss  Dare's  lips.  Joan  and  Ray 
sipped  a  little  to  please  Mary  Caroline, 
but  neither  could  eat,  and  Mary  Caro 
line  went  away.  Joan  now  sat  up 
against  the  cretonne  pillow,  and  with 
firmer  voice  began  again  :  - 

"  Harum  was  such  a  dear  little  fel- 
232 


THE    MAN    IN    THE    CASE 

low,  Douglas  —  you  can't  think.  You 
can't  understand  how  it  all  was  —  how 
I  felt,  how  we  all  felt  about  Harum. 
Father  was  worse  than  any  of  us.  He 
spoiled  the  boy;  from  the  beginning 
of  everything  Harum  had  his  way  ;  he 
did  as  he  pleased ;  nobody  stopped  it, 
and  so  Mother  used  to  worry  about  it ; 
she  understood  better  how  it  was ;  she 
and  I  used  to  talk  about  it.  One  night 
when  I  was  just  a  girl  at  school,  she 
came  into  my  room  after  I  had  gone 
to  bed,  and  said :  '  Joan,  I  want  you  to 
promise  me,  no  matter  what  should 
happen,  promise  me  you  will  always  look 
after  your  little  brother  ; '  for  Harum  is 
four  years  younger  than  I  am,  and  he 
used  to  look  up  to  me,  you  know,  and 
tag  after  me  at  play,  and  I  always  took 
care  of  him,  and  it  never  used  to  seem 
to  me  as  if  he  had  grown  up.  He  was  a 
233 


THE    MAN    IN    THE    CASE 

mischievous  little  fellow,  Douglas,  full 
of  fun,  always  up  to  something  —  and 
I  was  always  getting  him  out  of  scrapes 
he  'd  got  into.  Don't  you  see  ? " 

"  I  see,"  said  Douglas.  "  Oh,  I  know  ! 
You  don't  need  to  tell  me  what  you  did 
—  how  you  ' d  treat  a  wild  boy." 

"  He  was  wild,"  admitted  Joan, "  but 
I  promised  Mother.  And  he  never  was 
anything  worse  until  this  —  this  dread 
ful  thing.  He  did  n't  mean  to  do  it, 
Douglas." 

"They  never  do,"  thought  Douglas; 
but  he  put  her  hand  to  his  lips.  Joan's 
low  voice  went  stealing  on,  —  ideal 
izing,  idolizing,  forgiving;  pardoning 
like  God  and  condoning  like  herself  - 
a  woman  "  made  of  love  "  and  "  of  love 
all  worthy."  She  told  him  --it  seemed 
that  she  could  not  tell  him  enough. 
Now  that  the  gates  of  silence  were  un- 
234 


THE    MAN    IN    THE    CASE 

locked,  the  torrent  of  expression  poured 
as  if  it  would  dash  the  dam  of  language 
down.  She  recalled  old,  forgotten  epi 
sodes  of  the  lad's  college  days  -  -  little 
things  showing  even  to  her  exquisite 
sense  of  exculpation  how  and  where  the 
boy  had  first  gone  wrong ;  she  dwelt 
on  pretty  incidents  in  his  childhood  ; 
how  he  had  done  such  a  kind  thing 
one  day,  or  such  another  on  the  next ; 
how  lovable  he  was  ;  what  a  handsome 
lad,  a  scholar  too ;  such  a  brilliant  fel 
low —  and  how  they  played  together 
and  studied  together  as  long  as  they 
could,  and  about  the  letters  that  he 
wrote  home,  and  how  the  neighbors 
called  him  Harum  Scarum  when  he 
was  a  little  fellow — and  would  get  into 
trouble,  do  the  best  she  could,  poor  boy  ! 
poor  boy !  But  nobody  thought  that  it 
would  ever  be  real  trouble  like  that 
235 


THE    MAN    IN    THE    CASE 

which  happened  in  New  York.  Then 
her  mind  leaped  over  the  tragedy  and 
swung  away  from  New  York  abruptly, 
and  reverted  suddenly  to  Mapleleaf,  and 
to  the  night  when  the  outcast  had  lifted 
and  let  fall  the  fate  upon  the  threshold 
of  her  door. 

"  He  had  been  wandering  about," 
she  pleaded,  "  God  knows  where  —  all 
those  years.  Harum  never  told  me- 
he  could  not  talk  about  it.  It  was  like 
being  the  ghost  of  a  lost  soul ;  you  can 
not  show  yourself,  you  know.  Nobody 
would  want  you,  nobody  would  care. 
But  he  knew  /would,  so  when  he  found 
out  that  he  had  consumption,  Douglas 
-  that  he  could  not  live  —  he  came  to 
me.  He  did  not  think  it  would  last  as 
long  as  it  did ;  he  only  came  home  to 
die.  He  wanted  so  to  be  at  home  to 
die!  He  wanted  me  so,  Douglas!  So  I 
236 


THE    MAN    IN    THE    CASE 

took  him  in ;  I  did  the  best  I  could  for 
Harum." 

"Did  he  never  know  —  did  he  not 
suspect,  the  price  you  paid  for  it  ? " 
asked  Ray,  --"  the  awful  price." 

"  Oh,  no,"  said  Joan,  "  he  was 
pretty  sick ;  he  did  not  think  it 
through;  I  never  told  him  that;  I 
made  light  of  things,  I  put  it  to  him 
any  way —  but  that." 

She  closed  her  eyes,  and  her  head 
fell  back  upon  the  cretonne  pillow, 
weakly.  Impulses  of  speech  and  second 
thoughts  of  silence  alternated  on  her 
quivering  lips.  For  a  while  he  did  not 
intrude  upon  her  by  a  word,  but  abso 
lutely  gave  her  will  its  way. 

"  Sometimes    I   had   such    frights," 

she    whispered,    "  lest     he    should   be 

found,    lest    people   should    come    in. 

That   fire  was    the    worst    of   all  —  I 

237 


THE    MAN    IN    THE    CASE 

would have  gone  down  with  the  house," 
she  cried,  "  before  I  would  have  given 
him  up  !  " 

Ray  started  to  say,  "  You  could  n't 
have,  because  I  was  there,"  but  he  fore- 
bore. 

"  Then  it  was  so  hard  to  see  him 
suffer,  to  let  him  die  that  way,  without 
proper  care  -  -  no  nurse,  no  doctor, 
nobody  but  me."  She  pressed  her  hol 
low  eyes,  as  if  she  would  shut  out  sights 
she  must  see  as  long  as  she  lived.  "  But 
he  would  not  have  a  doctor ;  he  could 
not  have  one.  I  wanted  our  old  doctor 
so — the  one  that  Mother  had,  and 
Father.  But  of  course,  you  see,  it  never 
would  have  done.  Once  I  went  into 
town  and  saw  a  specialist.  I  gave  an 
other  name —  not  my  own.  I  told  him 
about  the  case ;  I  told  him  the  patient 
was  eccentric,  and  refused  to  see  a  phy- 
238 


THE    MAN    IN    THE    CASE 

sician,  and  what  did  he  advise  me  to 
do  ?  He  gave  me  a  prescription,  and  he 
said  there  was  n't  anything  to  be  done. 
He  said  the  patient  would  die  about  the 
middle  of  September  ;  and  he  has.  — 
I  see  so  many  things  I  might  have 
done  differently,"  faltered  Joan,  "if  I 
had  it  to  do  over  again.  But  I  tried, 
I  did  try  to  do  the  best  I  could  for 
Harum.  I  had  n't  anybody  to  —  to 
ask." 

Now  she  began  to  sob  again.  Ex 
cept  that  once  when  the  minister  and 
his  wife  had  found  her  off  her  guard, 
it  was  two  years  since  Joan  had  cried, 
and  Ray  did  not  try  to  check  the  dash 
ing  tears  that  wet  her  cheeks  and  his. 
Instead,  he  sat  down  upon  the  lounge 
and  locked  his  arms  about  her. 

"  Here,"  h^  said,  "you  stay.  Cry, 
lassie !  Cry  !  It  will  do  you  good  ! 
239 


THE    MAN    IN    THE    CASE 

You  great,   royal    woman  soul  !    You 
poor  —  brave  — noble  girl  !  " 

Their  lips  met  solemnly.  To  Ray's 
came  other  words:  he  called  her  "  hero 
ine,"  "martyr,"  "soldier,"  "queen," 
and  God  knows  what  high  names  be 
sides;  he  offered  her  a  litany,  half  wor 
ship  and  all  love.  Joan  received  it 
gently. 

He  left  her  presently  and  went  down 
stairs  ;  she  heard  him  talking  at  the  tel 
ephone,  and  with  Mary  Caroline.  Both 
moved  about  the  house  ;  doors  shut  and 
opened ;  bells  rang,  and  the  knocker 
on  the  front  door  fell  three  times,  but 
Joan  lay  with  her  hands  upon  her  eyes 
and  her  grief  upon  her  heart  ;  she  nei 
ther  heard,  nor  saw,  nor  cared,  what 
happened.  It  seemed  to  her  that  any 
thing  might  happen  now,  and  then  that 
nothing  could. 

240 


THE    MAN    IN    THE    CASE 

When  Ray  came  back  with  strangers 
and  took  them  into  the  dead  man's 
room,  she  asked  no  questions  and  felt 
no  concern.  When  he  came  out  of  the 
room  and  went  downstairs  and  hurried 
up  again,  she  did  not  stir ;  he  sat 
down  on  the  lounge  beside  her,  and 
drew  something  from  his  inner  pocket 
—  unfolded  it,  and  laid  it  on  her  lap. 

"  Martin  Luther  shan't  get  it  this 
time  ! " 

He  smiled  so  happily  that  Joan 
smiled  too — she  could  not  help  it.  She 
saw  now  that  she  held  for  the  second 
time  in  her  trembling  hands  the  mar 
riage  license,  torn  and  worn  from  safe 
and  sacred  keeping  against  the  Scotch 
man's  heart. 

"  Joan,"  suggested  Ray  quite  natu 
rally,  as  if  he  were  not  asking  anything 
of  consequence,  "  Mr.  Cotton  is  down- 
241 


THE    MAN    IN    THE    CASE 

stairs,  and   his  wife  is  with    him.    He 
has  come  to  marry  us." 

"Not  now,  Douglas?"  Joan  got  to 
her  feet.  She  looked  this  way  and  that 
about  her.  The  door  of  her  own  room 
was  open  behind  her.  Ray  saw  it,  shut 
it,  and  stood  before  it. 

"  You  can't  go  there.  You  can't  go 
anywhere  —  except  here."  He  held  out 
his  arms. 

"You  have  been  the  most  wretched 
woman  in  the  world,  Joan.  See  !  I  '11 
make  you  the  happiest.  We  have  suf 
fered  enough,  I  think,  don't  you?  Let 
us  turn  about  and  try  joy  for  a  change. 
I  can't  see  any  reason  for  waiting,  - 
in  fact,"  added  the  Scotchman,  "  I  wont 
wait;  I  've  done  enough  of  that.  Besides, 
there  are  things  to  be  done  yet;  the  sit 
uation  needs  a  man.  Indeed,  it  needs 
a  husband  ;  Mr.  Cotton  agrees  with  me 
242 


THE    MAN    IN    THE    CASE 

about  that  -  -  not  that  it  would  make 
the  least  difference  if  nobody  agreed 
with  me.  Come,  Joan!  " 

"Very  well,"  said  Joan.  She  took  a 
few  steps  towards  him,  but  stopped. 

"What  will  your  mother  say?"  she 
asked.  "  There  will  always  be  poor 
Harum,  and  —  the  disgrace." 

"What  disgrace?"  asked  Ray. 


CHAPTER   X 


OAN  stood  in  the  library 
with  the  old  minister 
and  his  wife  and  Mary 
Caroline.  Footsteps  were 
still  stirring  overhead, 
and  Ray  closed  the  door  and  turned  the 
key. 

"  We  are  ready,  sir,"  he  said. 
"  I     have  n't    any    dress,"     pleaded 
Joan,  with  an  embarrassed  little  smile. 
Ray's  eyes  traveled  up  and  down  the 
clinging,  trailing  gown. 

"  Nothing    could    be    whiter,"    he 
suggested. 

Mary  Caroline  stepped  up  softly  ;  she 
had  a  folded  package  in  her  hand  ;  it 
244 


THE    MAN    IN    THE    CASE 

was  wrapped  in  silk,  which  fell  apart 
beneath  the  old  servant's  strong  and 
reverent  fingers. 

"  Here,  my  dear,"  said  Mary  Caro 
line.  "You  listen  to  me;  don't  you  let 
him  snarl  this  cat's  cradle.  He 's  no- 
thin'  but  men  folks.  He  could  n't  un 
derstand  ;  tain't  in  'em.  There  ain't  no 
woman  wants  to  be  married  in  her 
common  cloes,  nor  never  was  —  not  if 
she  'd  set  the  Last  Trumpet  for  her 
weddin'  day.  Here 's  your  mother's 
veil,  Miss  Joan.  It 's  pretty  old,  and 
dreadful  yellow,  but  there  's  a  good 
deal  of  it,  and  it  was  hern.  I  went  up 
stairs  and  got  it,  for  I  thought  she'd 
like  to  have  me." 

With  a  deft  and  unexpected  motion, 
Mary    Caroline   shook   out    the    lace, 
hung  it  over  her  mistress,  and  draped 
her  with  it  from  head  to  foot. 
245 


THE    MAN    IN    THE    CASE 

Softened  and  enhanced,  Joan's  hag 
gard  face  looked  pathetically  through 
the  illusion  with  which  the  custom  of 
generations  has  blurred  the  eyes  of  a 
bride.  Her  mother's  veil  gave  glamour 
to  her ;  she  had  a  spiritual  beauty  which 
youth,  and  a  light  heart,  and  freedom 
from  care,  and  ignorance  of  suffering 
may  never  know.  She  seemed  to  float 
upon  a  silver  cloud,  and  to  sway  as  if 
uncertain  whether  to  vanish  or  alight. 
The  Scotchman  gripped  her  hand ;  he 
felt  as  if  she  might  melt  away  from  him. 

So  her  old  minister  married  her  and 
blessed  her.  But  Mary  Caroline  kissed 
her  through  her  mother's  veil.  Mary 
Caroline  did  not  cry  ;  she  looked  a  little 
stupid,  as  if  she  had  lost  her  way  in  a 
foreign  land  where  she  could  not  speak 
the  language.  She  held  out  her  big 
hand  to  Douglas  Ray. 
246 


THE    MAN    IN    THE    CASE 

"Who  giveth  this  woman  to  be  mar 
ried  to  this  man  ? "  asked  Mary  Caroline 
in  an  oratorical  tone,  as  if  she  were 
repeating  an  omitted  part  of  the  church 
service.  "  That  's  me.  There  ain't  no 
other  mortal  man  I  'd  want  to  have  her. 
But  I  guess  you  've  earned  her,  Mr. 
Ray." 

With  solemn  steps,  as  if  she  had  been 
returning  from  some  tomb  where  she 
had  left  the  dearest  thing  she  knew, 
Mary  Caroline  crossed  the  room,  turned 
the  key,  and  opened  the  door.  But 
in  the  hall  she  stood  still,  and  began  to 
paw  the  air  with  sudden,  sprawling  fin 
gers.  It  took  Ray  some  moments  to 
divine  that  these  extraordinary  gestures 
were  intended  as  a  signal  for  himself. 
He  obeyed  it  at  once,  and  Mary  Caro 
line  shut  the  door. 

"  Seein'  you  be  her  husband,"  said 
247 


THE    MAN    IN    THE    CASE 

Mary  Caroline  distinctly,  "  I  suppose 
this  here  's  your  business,  not  mine.  I 
found  it  under  his  pillow  when  I  come 
to  lay  him  out.  He'd  got  his  mother's 
Bible,  and  this  was  tucked  between  the 
leaves.  You,  see  she  's  so  wore  out,  I 
thought  you'd  better  read  it  first.  I 
don't  feel  as  if  I  had  n't  orter,  and 
I  warn't  er  goin'  ter  bother  her.  Thanks 
be  to  mercy,  she  has  bore  enough." 

Mary  Caroline  laid  a  folded  note, 
unsealed,  within  Ray's  outstretched 
hand.  He  read  it  in  silence  and  with 
out  hesitation.  Thus  it  ran:  — 

DEAR  JOAN, — I  want  to  be  buried 
in  the  evening  —  if  pretty  dark,  so 
much  the  better,  and  I  don't  want  it 
put  off.  Don't  draw  out  the  misery  — 
I  've  made  you  trouble  enough.  Besides 
I  don't  think  I  shall  begin  to  rest  until 
248 


THE    MAN    IN    THE    CASE 

I  am  under  ground.  I  am  tired  of  the 
whole  thing  —  of  sinning,  of  suffering, 
of  being.  If  I  had  my  choice,  I  would 
never  be  again,  but  if  I  had  to  go  living 
anywhere,  I  would  try  to  be  a  different 
fellow.  On  my  soul  (if  I  have  a  soul)  I 
would.  Before  God  (if  there  is  a  God), 
I  am  sorry  for  everything.  I  am  sorry 
all  the  way  back,  and  as  far  as  I  can 
remember.  I  was  thinking  yesterday 
of  the  first  lie  I  told,  and  how  I  took 
some  money  from  you  when  I  was  a 
little  chap.  You  never  knew  -  -  you 
thought  you  lost  it  —  it  was  all  you  had 
-two  dollars  and  sixty  cents.  And 
you  were  such  a  generous  little  girl, 
you'd  have  given  it  to  me  if  I  had  asked 
for  it.  The  thing  I  mind  most  is  dis 
gracing  you — Great  God,  Joan!  What 
you  have  been!  What  you  have  done! 
I  don't  believe  there  's  another  woman 
249 


THE    MAN    IN    THE    CASE 

in  the  world,  not  another  sister,  any 
how,  who  would  have  crucified  herself 
as  you  have,  and  never  cried  out  once 
-no,  nor  groaned.  You  thought  I 
did  n't  know  what  it  cost  you;  at  first, 
you  see,  I  did  n't.  I  never  would  have 
come  if  I  had  seen  the  whole  thing 
through.  I  've  been  a  bad  man,  but  I 
never  sunk  so  low  as  that.  I  would 
have  died  like  the  castaway  I  am,  and 
I  wish  I  had.  But  by  the  time  I  be 
gan  to  understand  it  was  too  late.  I 
thought  you  'd  mind  it  less,  if  you 
thought  I  did  n't  know,  so  I  let  you 
think  so.  —  All  I  can  say  now  is,  I  hope 
I  have  died  in  time.  You  have  grown 
terribly  thin  lately,  and  pale.  You  are 
like  an  ermine,  Joan.  You  know  the 
little  creature  will  stand  still  and  be 
killed  before  it  will  step  in  the  mud. 
They  are  slandering  you  to  death,  and 
250 


THE    MAN    IN    THE    CASE 

you  've  stood  still  and  let  them ;  they 
have  hunted  you  almost  down  —  these 
Christian  men  and  women,  God  forgive 
them! — it's  more  than  I  can  do.  —  I 
wonder  if  you  '11  miss  me  any  in  spite 
of  all.  There  's  nobody  else  to.  —  Peo 
ple  who  have  n't  suffered  or  lived  say, 
God  bless  you!  I  say,  God  make  more 
women  like  you  —  if  He  can  ! 

Love  me  a  little  when  you  are  happy, 
and  forgive  your  brother, 

HARUM  S.  DARE. 

Now  it  was  the  old  minister's  turn. 
Everything  that  tact  and  a  pastor's 
heart  could  do  was  done  for  these  two 
children  of  his  parish  —  the  dead  lad 
and  the  slandered  woman.  He  caused 
the  word  of  what  had  happened  to  be 
carried  everywhere,  and  half  of  Maple- 
leaf  came  to  share  in  the  last  service 
251 


THE    MAN    IN    THE    CASE 

offered    to    the     blotted    memory    of 
Harum  Dare. 

It  was  in  the  even  ing,  as  he  had  wished ; 
it  was  not  going  to  be  a  dark  night,  as 
he  had  hoped,  for  there  was  a  high 
moon,  and  twilight  and  moonlight  met 
with  soft  candle-light  in  the  library 
where  the  boy  lay:  —  going  out  of  his 
father's  house  as  if  he  had  never  dis 
honored  it,  and  treated  in  it  as  he  had 
always  been,  with  patience,  with  ten 
derness,  with  trust,  until  the  end. 

Joan's  neighbors  and  fellow-towns 
men  crept  in  with  hanging  heads. 
When  they  saw  her — for  she  was  still  in 
her  white  dress,  and  Ray  beside  her- 
their  first  thought  was  that  they  had 
been  bidden  to  one  of  the  solemn  cere 
monies  when  love  and  death  share  the 
house,  as  love  and  death  share  life.  But 
they  soon  saw  how  it  was,  and  under- 
252 


THE    MAN    IN    THE    CASE 

stood  that  none  of  her  old  friends  in 
Mapleleaf  had  been  found  worthy  to 
be  bidden  to  the  marriage  of  Joan 
Dare. 

Joan  stood  with  lifted  head.  Once 
her  haggard  eyes  swept  the  crowded 
room.  In  the  arrow  of  that  glance  she 
had  seen  everything,  she  had  recognized 
everybody  —  all  these  people  who  had 
misunderstood  and  wronged  her.  Their 
faces  swayed  before  her  like  the  phan 
toms  of  an  after  life.  They  seemed 
a  great  way  off — farther  than  the  boy 
in  his  coffin.  The  minister's  wife  was 
there;  she  had  drawn  her  veil.  Annie 
Hammerton  sat  beside  her,  sobbing. 
The  old  furnace  man  whose  family 
always  had  character  stood  in  the 
doorway,  with  a  puzzled  face.  The 
church  committee  were  in  the  room ; 
they  sat  decorously  and  did  not  look 
253 


THE    MAN    IN    THE    CASE 

at  Miss  Dare.  The  junior  deacon  and 
the  little  clerk  had  moved  up  nearest 
her.  The  senior  deacon  held  his  hat 
before  his  face.  The  theological  mem 
ber  and  the  rich  member  cast  their 
eyes  upon  the  floor.  Some  of  the  fire 
men  were  present,  and  the  Chief  in  his 
uniform,  cap  in  hand,  and  the  ladies  of 
the  Wednesday  Club  with  handker 
chiefs  at  their  faces.  All  of  Joan's  old 
neighbors  had  thronged  to  honor  her. 
The  house  was  full,  and  the  press  was 
great;  the  hall,  the  stairs,  the  steps 
overflowed,  and  the  avenue  was  crowded 
to  the  street. 

The  church  people  were  there,  and 
the  church  choir,  that  sang  as  if  it  had 
been  any  one  else's  funeral ;  they  sang 
the  old  burial  hymns  that  everybody 
loves  —  "Lead,  Kindly  Light,"  and 
"Jesus,  Lover  of  My  Soul;"  just  as  if 
254 


THE    MAN    IN    THE    CASE 

the  dead  lad  had  never  disgraced  his 
father's  faith  or  his  father's  name. 

Then  the  voice  of  the  old  minister 
uprose  solemnly.  He  spoke  with  thrill 
ing  distinctness.  The  windows  were 
open,  and  the  people  halfway  down 
the  avenue  could  hear  what  he  said:  — 

"  There  was  once  a  woman  who  has 
been  called  the  greatest  of  her  sex,  who 
came  from  the  obscurity  of  peasant 
ancestry  and  childhood  to  the  front 
of  a  world-wide  and  immortal  fame. 
She  commanded  men,  she  organized 
forces,  she  led  armies,  she  generated 
battles,  she  saved  a  nation.  She  will  be 
remembered  forever  as  the  greatest 
woman  warrior  of  the  world. 

"  Peace  has  her  battles  as  well  as  war ; 
common  life,  like  extra  life,  has  its  rev 
olutions,  its  conflicts,  its  victories,  its 
defeats;  demands  its  leaders  and  finds 
255 


THE    MAN    IN    THE    CASE 

them.  Village  history  has  its  heroines. 
Glory  passes  them  by,  but  a  fine  soul 
cannot.  A  woman  warrior  stands  among 
us,  —  unrecognized,  misunderstood, 
hounded  to  her  anguish  and  our  shame. 
"  People  of  Mapleleaf !  —  where  we 
should  have  trusted  we  have  suspected. 
Where  we  should  have  lifted  and  com 
forted,  we  have  crushed  and  derided. 
Where  we  should  have  believed  in  a 
spotless  character,  we  have  broken  a 
noble  heart.  This  poor  lad,  whom  we 
are  met  to  carry  from  his  father's  house 
below  to  the  gates  of  his  Father's 
house  above,  was  a  lesser  criminal,  I 
think,  than  we  have  been.  He  only 
killed  a  man ;  we  have  murdered  a 
character;  he  slew  a  human  life;  we 
have  slain  a  woman's  name ;  his  was 
the  deed  of  a  moment's  madness;  ours 
has  been  the  deliberate  action  of  years; 
256 


THE    MAN    IN    THE    CASE 

he  slaughtered  ;  we  have  tortured  ;  he 
has  suffered;  we  have  inflicted;  he  has 
gone  to  the  mercy  of  his  Heavenly 
Father's  heart,  a  repenting  and  for 
given  soul.  His  share  in  this  great 
tragedy  has  been  expiated.  Ours  is  yet 
unreckoned." 

Then  the  minister,  who  had  never 
been  afraid  of  his  people,  who  was  ac 
customed  to  speak  the  truth  to  them, 
no  matter  where  it  hit  nor  whom  it 
hurt,  advanced  and  laid  his  hands  upon 
the  dead  man's  head,  and  kept  them 
there  a  moment,  as  if  he  blessed  the 
wanderer.  Who  knows  what  sacred 
and  sad-hearted  responsibility  he  had 
felt  for  the  self-willed  boy,  whom  his 
pastor  had  never  been  able  to  control  ? 
In  an  awed  and  trembling  voice,  the 
minister  began  to  pray:  — 

"  Great  God,  Thou  who  art  the  hope 
257 


THE    MAN    IN    THE    CASE 

of  every  sorry  sinner,  in  Christ's  name, 
and  for  Christ's  sake,  we  intrust  this 
erring  soul  to  Thee.  Take  him  to 
Thyself  and  hold  him  there.  We  are 
content  to  lay  him  on  Thy  heart.  Just 
and  merciful  God,  Thou  receivest  the 
dead,  but  in  our  keeping  are  left  the 
treasures  of  life.  Make  us  worthy  of  our 
sister,  whom  we  have  sorely  wronged! 
Lord,  forgive  our  sins !  We  have  not 
meant  to  be  as  cruel  as  we  were ;  perhaps 
we  have  been  more  stupid  than  wicked 
in  Thy  sight;  but  Lord,  forgive  our  sin ! 
If  ever  from  this  day  we  shall  speak  the 
word  that  wrongs,  remind  us  of  this 
hour.  If  ever  our  thoughtless  lips 
should  scatter  the  slander  that  slays  - 
Lord,  remind  us  of  this  hour,  and  of 
this  prayer." 

When    the    old    pastor's   voice    had 

ceased  from  prayer  the  poor  lad's  neigh- 
258 


THE    MAN    IN    THE    CASE 

bors  came  up  one  by  one  to  look  upon 
his  face,  and  went  their  ways  and 
thought  their  own  thoughts,  and  told 
no  man  what  these  were,  for  their  eyes 
were  downcast,  and  some,  it  was  no 
ticed,  walked  with  heads  upon  their 
breasts. 

So  Joan  and  her  husband  and  her 
old  servant  buried  their  dead,  and  all 
the  people  followed  them.  It  was  far 
on  in  the  evening,  and  the  moon  was 
high ;  it  stood  in  the  sky  as  if  it  had 
been  built  into  the  walls  of  the  city 
whose  gates  were  each  a  pearl ;  one  felt 
as  if  something  had  been  opened  and 
let  heaven  down.  Joan's  exalted  face, 
wasted  well-nigh  as  much  as  that  other 
which  was  covered  now  from  sight  be 
neath  September  leaves  and  flowers, 
lifted  unconsciously  with  the  battle  at 
titude,  like  that  of  the  woman  warrior 
259 


THE    MAN    IN    THE    CASE 

to  whom  the  minister  had  likened  her. 
She  seemed  to  be  reviewing  invisible 
forces;  she  seemed  to  hear  inaudible 
voices ;  it  was  as  if  she  still  stood  apart 
from  all  the  world.  She  took  her  hand 
from  her  husband's  arm,  and  knelt  be 
side  the  open  grave,  and  covered  her 
face.  But  on  that  solitary  moment 
no  man,  not  even  he  who  loved  her 
best,  intruded. 

Afterwards,  she  made  it  known  to 
him  that  she  wished  to  remain,  they 
two  alone  together,  until  the  sods  had 
been  laid  upon  the  poor  lad.  And  it 
was  done,  as  she  had  asked,  and  every 
one  went  away  and  left  her  so.  She 
busied  herself  with  the  flowers,  and  did 
not  speak.  She  stayed  some  time.  When 
she  rode  back  with  her  husband,  and 
came  to  the  doorway  of  her  own  house, 
she  was  surprised  to  see  that  people 
260 


THE    MAN    IN    THE    CASE 

were  standing  solemnly  on  this  side  of 
the  avenue  and  on  that. 

The  house  was  warmly  lighted,  and 
the  shades  were  raised.  On  the  upper 
step  stood  Mary  Caroline,  with  Martin 
Luther ;  Mary  Caroline  was  smiling 
quietly,  but  Martin  Luther,  who  could 
not  smile,  but  only  love,  came  leaping 
down.  The  crape  had  been  taken  from 
the  fate  upon  the  door,  and  flowers, 
knotted  with  white,  clung  to  the 
knocker.  At  a  word  from  somebody 
the  carriage  was  stopped  without  com 
ing  to  the  steps,  and  the  two  got  out 
and  walked  a  little  way  among  the 
neighbors,  not  understanding  why  they 
did  so.  The  old  dog  preceded  them 
with  dignity. 

Joan,  on  her  husband's  arm,  in  her 
white  dress,  with  the  moonlight  on 
her,  came  up  between  the  lines  of  peo- 
261 


THE    MAN    IN    THE    CASE 

pie  on  this  side  and  that,  and  wondered 
a  little,  but  did  not  say  so, --till  sud 
denly  she  felt  soft  arms  around  her 
neck,  and  warm  tears  upon  her  cheek, 
and  it  seemed  to  be  that  Annie  Ham- 
merton  was  sobbing  in  her  ear  :  "  For 
give,  forgive  me,  Joan  !  " 

"  Me,  too,"  nobly  said  the  pastor's 
wife,  "  I  might  have  done  so  much !  — 
I  wish  I  had." 

Before  she  could  draw  her  agitated 
breath,  Joan  perceived  that  the  women 
of  Mapleleaf,  her  old  neighbors,  had 
come  crowding  up  to  ask  her  pardon, 
because  they  had  misunderstood  her. 
This  touched  her  deeply,  so  much  that 
she  could  not  answer  them.  Then 
while  she  was  trying  to  do  so,  she  saw 
that  her  way  was  blocked  by  a  group  of 
men,  who  stood  each  with  lifted  hat 
and  head  bared  to  do  her  honor.  It 
262 


THE    MAN    IN    THE    CASE 

surprised  her  to  observe  that  she  stood 
face  to  face  with  the  committee  of  the 
village  church. 

They  were  all  there,  —  the  senior 
deacon,  the  junior  deacon,  the  clerk, 
the  theological  member,  and  the  rich 
member,  —  and  they  seemed  to  have 
received  her  in  an  official  capacity,  for 
the  senior  deacon  was  their  chairman 
and  their  spokesman,  and  he  it  was 
who,  with  some  difficulty  and  very 
slowly,  said  :  - 

"  It  is  our  judgment  and  belief"  — 

Joan's  fingers  tightened  suddenly  on 
her  husband's  arm. 

"  It  is  our  judgment  and  belief 
repeated  the  senior  deacon,  "  that 
when  a  Christian  church  does  anything 
wrong,  it  ought  to  say  so,  like  any 
body  else.  Miss  Dare,  we  made  a  mis 
take  ;  we've  come  to  ask  your  pardon 
263 


THE    MAN    IN    THE    CASE 

for  it.  We  wish  to  say  -  -  in  fact," 
proceeded  the  senior  deacon,  "  we 
do  say,  that  we  consider  you  have 
reached  a  high  plane  of  Grace"  (grace 
was  a  favorite  word  with  the  senior 
deacon,  though  what  he  meant  by  it 
neither  he  nor  anybody  knew),  "  and  we 
honor  you  for  it,  madam.  We  wish 
we  had  understood  the  circumstances 
all  along  ;  but  we  -  -  well,  we  did  n't. 
We  thought  we  were  doing  right.  We 
meant  to,  but  we  see  we  did  n't.  So 
we  ask  you  to  forgive  us  — for  Christ's 
sake,  Amen,"  added  the  deacon,  as  if 
he  had  been  making  a  public  prayer. 

Then  Joan,  for  Christ's  sake,  Amen, 
held  out  her  thin  hand  to  the  deacon, 
and  to  the  members  of  the  church  com 
mittee,  and  to  her  own  neighbors,  one 
by  one.  For  her  great  heart  was  large 
enough  to  hold  them  all.  A  woman 
264 


THE    MAN    IN    THE    CASE 

who  could  love  as  she  had  loved  would 
forgive  as  she  forgave. 

Joan  looked  from  face  to  face.  "  You 
see,"  she  said  quite  naturally,  "I  pro 
mised  Mother  I  'd  always  take  care  of 
my  little  brother." 

She  entered  her  home  with  her  hus 
band,  and  all  the  house  was  still ;  it 
seemed  dazzling  bright,  and  pulsated 
before  her.  Every  tragic  sign  had  been 
removed,  and  Mary  Caroline  was  get 
ting  supper  as  if  nothing  had  happened. 

The  Morris  chair  was  in  its  place 
before  the  library  fire,  which  somebody 
had  lighted.  Douglas  Ray  led  his  wife 
across  the  room  silently.  With  the 
capacity  for  happiness  which  only  suf 
fering  gives,  Joan  entered  the  kingdom 
of  joy.  And  so  much  greater  a  power 
is  hope  than  despair  that  it  seemed  to 
her  as  if  every  pang  which  she  had 
265 


THE    MAN    IN    THE    CASE 

known  had  evaded  her  memory,  as  it 
had  retreated  from  her  life.  She  tried 
to  say  so,  but  no  words  came. 

Martin  Luther  jumped  from  the  cre 
tonne  couch  with  the  roses,  sauntered 
downstairs,  and  looked  in  at  the  library 
door.  When  he  saw  what  he  saw,  his 
ears  went  flat  to  his  head,  and  he  hur 
ried  out  into  the  kitchen  to  report  the 
circumstance  to  Mary  Caroline.  He 
found  her  serving  supper  with  the  pro 
fessional  aid  of  the  furnace  man  who 
said  that  character  was  more  precious 
than  rubies. 


A     000  752  801     1 


